Play the Game Tonight
by AlElizabeth
Summary: Welcome to the 125th Hunger Games! Sam and Dean Winchester are selected as tributes and are thrown into a game that is anything but fun. Fighting to survive, they must withstand not only the environment inside the arena but the other tributes and the obstacles the Gamemakers have devised. Can the boys make it out of the Games alive or will they fall victim to the bloodthirsty mob?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: District Twelve

When I was a little kid I loved to play games with my friends. We would run through the cobblestone streets, past the squat, soot-smeared houses for hours. We played games like Tag and Hide-and-Seek, shouting and laughing. It never mattered who won or lost as long as we all had fun. As I got older though, I learned that not all games end with everybody winded and giggling. No, I learned that some games were literally life and death ordeals where no one finished with a smile on their face.

The sky was never blue in the Seam. I don't know if it was from all the coal dust in the air or if the sky was just reflecting the dismal houses and dispirited people who lived there. When I was a child I often imagined that the sky only shone a deep, crisp blue over the merchants' houses. I had only ever seen the merchants' homes from afar. Sometimes my friends and I would dare each other to see how close we could get to the clean, fancy brick dwellings, only to be chased away by Peacekeepers.

Twelve is the poorest district, the farthest from the Capitol and the one ruled with an iron fist, above all the others.

The Peacekeepers troll the grimy streets looking for anyone to punish, be it man, woman or child. The square where the Hall of Justice looms is decorated with a whipping post, a gallows and stocks; all of which are used regularly. The Capitol has been keeping this district firmly under its boot since the 74th Hunger Games- or so I'm told.

Poaching a death sentence, stealing is punishable by flogging, and selling items on the black market will send some poor soul to the stocks for a span of days. Groups of four or more people- other than families- are prohibited. Everyone in the Seam must show Peacekeepers and merchants the utmost respect- a rule that has people doing everything except bowing and scraping before them- when they are outside their homes.

Raids are a part of everyday life for the miners. Peacekeepers invite themselves into houses and 'search' for contraband items while destroying anything they can pick up and even steal from people who already have hardly enough as it is.

A smile is a rare thing in the Seam. Normally a cocky Peacekeeper will grin as he pulls the lever that sends you to a short drop and sudden stop or some simpering Capitol representative with show their bleached teeth as they get a guided tour of the Seam, most likely with their bellies full and a comfortable bed waiting for them back home.

District Twelve came under the Capitol's scrutiny, like I've said, during the year of the 74th Games. The two tributes from this district, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark defied the Capitol and made the President and the Head Gamemaker look like fools. Katniss and Peeta refused to kill one another once they were the only tributes left standing and as a result decided that if they would not be allowed to win, neither should the Capitol. Peeta and Katniss defied with just a handful of berries. They were announced the joint winners of the Games and then promptly made examples of. Their small act of rebellion caused a spark in the other districts and in a matter of weeks the Capitol was sending hundreds of Peacekeepers to squash the revolts. While on their Victory Tour, Katniss and Peeta were met with unfortunate 'accidents' which resulted in their untimely deaths. Peeta fell ill with food poisoning and succumbed within days. Katniss, perhaps in her grief over losing Peeta, jumped from one of the trains open windows and fell to her death as the locomotive was scaling the mountainous region that divides the Capitol from the outlying districts. After Katniss and Peeta's accidents, President Snow himself broadcasted a memorial for the two District Twelve tributes, made a speech, and promised that such a tragedy should never occur again. With their figureheads wiped out, the rebels quickly lost the fight and were either arrested or went into hiding. After his nationwide eulogy for Katniss and Peeta, President Snow traveled to District Twelve and informed all those in attendance that any mention of the winners of the 74th Hunger Games would be considered high treason. To put it another way, District Twelve was to forevermore remember Katniss and Peeta not as martyrs or saints, but as deviants who had tried to bring about the destruction of the Capitol and plunge the nation into a chaos not seen since the Dark Days.

Two years after the most humiliating Hunger Games in history President Snow died and his successor, Goneril Ever, took power. President Ever made sure the citizens of District Twelve were well aware of their status and kept in line, lest anyone try and rebel against the good and great Capitol again.

**Author's Note: **

**1. Although this is a SPN/Hunger Games crossover, many of the original characters from the **_**Hunger Games **_**trilogy will not actually be in this fanfic- they may be mentioned but the main focus of the story is the SPN characters placed in the Hunger Games universe. **

**2. Fanfic title comes from a Kansas song. **

**3. Please review. I'd love to know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Reaping

Fifty-one years have passed since Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark challenged the Gamemakers and still the Games are held annually. Still more young men and women are sent to their deaths for the entertainment of the privileged few in the Capitol while the Districts mourn their children, their sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. As the day of the Reaping draws closer the peoples' fear is almost palpable on the air, and all they can do is pray that their loved ones will be spared for one more year.

I tried not to think about it. I didn't want to think about all the eligible boys and girls in District Twelve shepherded into the center of the town to await the Capitol representative to call their names. I didn't want to think about the looks on the faces of my neighbours as they heard that their children were condemned. I didn't want to think about the weeks ahead, of having to watch the Games play out on our televisions at home or on the large screen across from the Hall of Justice. I didn't want to think about the knowledge that all those kids, some as young as my own little brother, would be butchered.

I lay awake in bed, trying not to think, concentrating only on the feeling of warmth coming from my brother's back as it pressed against my side. I calculated my chances of having my name drawn in the lottery. I had just turned sixteen in January so my name would be written down on fifteen crisp, white pieces of paper. Not only that, as soon as I turned twelve I took three _tessera_- one for each member of my family- and have done so yearly to help us keep from starving. With the extra _tesserae_- and because they are cumulative- my name will be in the lottery another twenty times. Now there is a grand total of thirty-five pieces of paper with _Dean Winchester _written on them in the reaping balls.

Only a week ago President Ever officially announced the new set of rules for this year's Games- the 125th which means they are also a Quarter Quell- on live television. Sam sat right beside me as we stared at our old, dusty television, his small hand squeezing mine while our father crouched on my other side. All our eyes glued to the President as she picked the neat, square card from its gold ornamental box.

"For the 125th Hunger Games, two male tributes will be chosen from District Twelve, two female tributes will be chosen from District Eleven…" President Ever read the rule change as though it was a list of items to be bought at the market, her tone held no interest or emotion. My heart began to thump wildly in my chest in fear. Now my chances of becoming a tribute had doubled. So had my brother's. I gripped Sam's hand tightly as he peered up at me, his mouth trembling and his green eyes as wide as saucers.

Dad groaned as he stood and to my surprise, pulled both Sam and I into a hug.

"It'll be okay, boys," Dad rumbled, "Don't worry."

Don't worry. All I did after the seal appeared on the television screen and the anthem trumpeted out of the speakers was worry.

I couldn't help but stare at the other boys I passed on the streets or saw coming out of the school building when I went to walk Sam home and wonder if one of them would be picked and if they were, would they ever return?

Sam was terrified of the rapidly approaching Reaping. He had always been susceptible to nightmares and in the weeks leading up to the lottery, woke crying and thrashing every night. All I could do for my brother was hug him and rock him, singing an old song I had learned from our mother under my breath and assure Sam that he was safe, that since he was only twelve his name was on one piece of paper in those reaping balls.

"But what about you?" Sam whispered late at night, his breath tickling my ear.

I would close my eyes and promise.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," I would whisper back to him, "It's my job to take care of you and I'm gonna keep doing just that."

Sam would nod his head and then fall asleep in my arms like he used to do when he had been really little, soothed by my presence and the rhythmic sound of our father's snoring from the bed across the room.

_W_

Our mother died years ago, when Sam was just six months old. A fire broke out- no one knows exactly how, most think it was caused by a spark from a stove igniting the coal dust that is ground into everything- and spread quickly through the houses in the Seam. I remember my father shaking me awake in the middle of the night, shoving my swaddled brother into my arms, telling me to run outside as fast as I could. The house was full smoke and flames licked hungrily at our meager possessions. Dad went back to help Mom get out. I stumbled out the door and someone scooped me up and carried my brother and me away from the fire. I remember people shouting and running around, Peacekeepers and miners alike working together to get water from the pumps in the city center to try and put out the flames. I remember standing in a group of onlookers- mostly women and children- and calling out for my parents, coughing on the thick, oily smoke that filled the air. Sammy was crying and I cuddled him to my chest, making hushing sounds, telling him that he was safe. Dad appeared, but not my mother. Dad crouched down until he was eye-level with me and wrapped Sam and I in a hug, shaking with sobs he couldn't control. I knew then that I would never see Mom again.

Thirty-nine people died that night. The old, abandoned coal warehouse that had once been known as the Hob served as temporary quarters until new houses were raised. Nearly sixty families were forced to live together in the confines of that dirty, smelly, rat-infested building that winter. Illness decimated a large number of the refugees and many more starved or froze to death.

My sole responsibility was to take care of Sam. Our father- a miner like every man from the Seam over eighteen years of age- was gone from dawn until dusk which left me as the only person who Sammy could rely on. I was the only person who could protect Sammy. I think Sam saved me that winter. I missed my mother something awful but I wasn't allowed to give up or let my grief get the better of me because I had to make sure my little brother was safe. Sam gave me something to live for. He depended on me, needed me and that helped take my mind off the suffering that was going on around us.

I sang to Sam, all the time. His favourite song was one our mother claimed was so old people had been singing it since before the Dark Days. Sometimes when I sang, the other refugees who were nearby would pause and listen and a few times I was asked to sing a particular tune. Music is forbidden in the districts but in Twelve many Peacekeepers just let it go- they have better things to arrest someone for I guess- and I think some of them even liked the music as well.

Living in the Hob for months, although it did alienate many people- there were fights (sometimes bitter ones) over whatever possessions were left, the food we were given by the Peacekeepers, or territory in the cramped warehouse- it did bring others together. A woman named Ellen Harvelle made sure Sam and I always received our fair share when the rations were being doled out by the Peacekeepers. She and her husband were camped not far from where Sam and I were and Ellen spent much of her days in our company while William was working in the mines. Missouri Mosley, a healer, also became a good friend when she came to look after those who were ill or dying. In whispered voices, people swore that she had power and could see the future or know all about a person just by shaking their hand. I don't know about that but I am eternally grateful to Missouri for helping Sam when he caught pneumonia and nearly died because of the dampness in the warehouse.

No new houses were actually built for the refugees, despite what we'd been told. After several months of living in horrendous conditions in the Hob, we were told to either move in with family or find our own building materials.

Houses are small affairs to begin with, more often than not with one room serving as bedroom and kitchen and den combined. Many families in the Seam are quite large and most refugees found a sister or brother or parent or cousin they could lodge with.

Dad, Sam and I were not so lucky. Dad was forced to scrounge through the Heap- the Seam's dumping ground- to look for splintered or broken wooden planks, rusting tin and torn canvas so that we could have a roof over our heads.

At first our new home was no better than a lean-to that barely kept the wind and rain out but over the years the three of us periodically discovered useful items among the piles of garbage and added onto it. Now it looks pretty good, if you ask me. Not so different from the other houses that surround it. We have a stove, cots, a table and of course, a television- that was the only thing the Capitol made sure to give every refugee- because what would we do if we couldn't watch the annual Games or President Ever's regular speeches and announcements in the comfort of our own homes?

_W_

The center of town was decorated for the approaching reaping. Streamers and bunting covered the crumbling façade of the Hall of Justice and the shops too expensive for anyone from the Seam to go into.

Sam gripped my hand a little tighter as we walked past and pointedly stared at the ground.

I tried to appear calm and cool in front of my brother, show him that I wasn't scared. I told myself that there were dozens of other boys who could be picked- seventeen and eighteen year olds who also took the _tesserae _annually- and although it sounds horrible, I wanted one of them would be chosen as tribute. I couldn't be chosen, not me. I had to take care of my little brother. Sam depended on me most of all. If I left, Sam would be all alone. Dad was gone most of the day and oftentimes he'd return home too tired to do anything but wash his face in the basin and crawl into bed.

In District Twelve, everyone prays that they will be passed over in the lottery, even if it means that someone else will lose their child. No one bears any grudges against one another for this frame of mind though because, well, everyone feels the same way. I remember the previous lotteries I'd been in, standing in a group with other boys my own age, fingers crossed that my name would stay in the reaping ball and the relief and joy I felt when someone else's was called out. The only ones who actually _wanted _to be nominated were the 'careers' or young men and women from Districts One and Two who were illegally trained for the Games since they could walk. Sometimes they even volunteered to act as tributes for their home Districts if their names weren't picked the first time around.

The Hunger Games were supposed to be a time of celebration, but in District Twelve you'd have thought someone had died. No one smiled or laughed, voices were hushed and eyes were averted.

_W_

The night before the reaping, the Peacekeepers raided houses in the Seam. The head Peacekeeper, Increase Grim, made up some story about there being a threat of rebellion in the district and every dwelling in the area needed to be searched.

Sam, Dad and I were made to stand outside of our small house and watch while Increase and his goons turned over the table, broke the chairs, tore open the thin mattresses on the cots and scattered ashes from the stove onto the floor.

The night air was chilly and Sam huddled against me for warmth as the Peacekeepers drew out their search for as long as possible. I was worried about Sam getting sick- he'd never really been a healthy kid since the pneumonia- and I always got nervous whenever he shivered too much or had a runny nose.

"Will you finish up soon?" I asked one of the Peacekeepers standing outside with us.

Furlong, I think his name is, shrugged the shoulders of his white uniform and gave me a suspicious look, "Why? You got something to hide?"

"My brother gets sick easily and it's kind of cold out here tonight," I explained, not wanting to get into an argument, especially with a Peacekeeper.

"Too bad," Furlong answered, "Grim wants to make sure everything is thoroughly searched."

I gritted my teeth in frustration and looked down at my brother.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam whispered, "I'm not c-cold."

I knelt down and tugged Sam's threadbare sweater a little tighter around him.

"We'll go back inside soon, Sammy," I promised him and exchanged weary glances with our father.

After a half hour Increase swaggered out; his white uniform looked almost ghostlike against the dark of night, and addressed Dad.

"Nothing too bad this time, Winchester," he smirked. The last time there was a raid, Grim himself had confiscated a bottle of medicine Missouri had made up for Sam, saying it was an illegal substance, and tossed Dad in the stocks for three days.

Furlong sniffed in distaste and followed his master down the street to go terrorize another poor family.

We all breathed a sigh of relief as we entered our small house. Dad grabbed the spade and shoveled the ashes back into the stove while Sam and I inspected the mattresses.

"These can easily be sewn up tonight," I muttered, stuffing the straw back into one and sitting it back on its cot.

"But the chairs are really busted," Sam pointed out.

I nodded, "We can go to the Heap tomorrow and see if we can find any nails to fix them."

"Dean," Dad spoke up as he sat the table back on its feet.

"Yeah, Dad?" I asked, distractedly.

"You shouldn't antagonize the Peacekeepers like that," he warned, "Increase would arrest you on some false charge and hang you if he had half a mind to."

"But he won't," I argued, "I'm almost eighteen and the Seam needs all the miners it can get."

Dad shook his head, "Just keep your nose clean and your head down, son."

I sighed, "Yes, sir."

I dug the sewing supplies- a thin needle and catgut- out from their hiding place and fixed the mattresses so we could at least get some sleep.

From outside the sound of shouting set all three of us on edge. Sam moved closer to my side and Dad peered out the window carefully.

"What is it, Dad?" Sam asked, nervously.

"Increase is arresting someone," Dad told us, "Looks like Abraham Greer."

I stared down at my work. Abraham was an old man in his seventies who lived with his daughter and her children. I didn't really know the man all that well but he seemed nice enough. He was too old to mine anymore and spent most of his days tending the goat his daughter owned. Sometimes, if we had enough money, I'd buy some milk or cheese off him as a treat. The man never hurt anyone in his life.

"What's going to happen to him?" Sam asked, touching my arm, "Dean? They're not going to hang him, are they?"

"I don't know, Sammy," I answered and Dad moved away from the window to sit opposite us on the other bed.

"Dean, patch those mattresses up so we can get some sleep," Dad ordered but with no real force to it.

_W_

Sam picked at his slice of bread, tearing it into little pieces and scattering them onto the wooden tabletop.

I swiped the bread from his hands, "If you're not going to eat it than don't waste it."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled and stared at his hands.

I sighed and reached across to put one hand on Sam's clenched fist. My brother looked up at me, his eyes big and wet and his lower lip trembling.

Dad was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands dangling between his knees and a sorrowful look on his tired face.

"Sam, eat your breakfast," Dad said in a distracted tone.

Sheepishly, Sam took his slice of bread back and nibbled it but I could see he had no appetite.

I reached out one hand and placed it on my brother's forehead, worried that he was sick. There was no sign of fever so I relaxed.

It's just nerves, I thought, recalling how scared I had been for my first reaping. I had been so tightly wound up that day that when the Capitol escort called out the boy's name I puked all over my friend, Linnet Drover.

I looked up when a bell rang out once, announcing that the time had come.

Sam stuffed the last of his bread in his mouth and stood. I reached out and brushed crumbs off his dress shirt. I don't know why, but the Capitol requires a dress code for the reaping- everyone is supposed to wear their best clothes- but I guess it goes along with the celebratory atmosphere it's meant to have.

Sam was wearing a light green hand-me-down shirt and black pants rolled up so that he wouldn't trip on the legs. His shoes were the same ones he always wore, polished as much as they could be for the event.

Sam's hair had started out being brushed back, away from his face but throughout the morning it had moved back into its usual position so that his dark bangs covered his eyes.

Despite Dad's dark blue pants and white dress shirt, he still looked like a miner. His face was creased with lines, his beard and hair were going grey prematurely and he had coal dust underneath his nails.

Outside we followed the line of families who seemed more like mourners than eager participants in the Games. A lot of boys looked pale and sweaty despite their best clothes. No one spoke.

I held Sam's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before we arrived at the city center and broke off into our respective age groups.

I ducked under the velvet rope the other boys my age were corralled in and peered at the crowd of onlookers. I saw Missouri Mosley, her lips a thin line across her face and her dark eyes smoldering. Ellen and her husband stood watching with their daughter, Joanna Beth- a girl two years younger than Sam- and I caught Ellen's eye. She gave a slight smile and nod in my direction. Dad was standing with the other families whose sons were waiting for the lottery. He had his arms crossed over his chest and had his eyes locked on Sam, trying to give him some comfort.

"Hey, good luck today," Linnet Drover bumped into me and whispered.

"You too," I told him. Linnet shared the characteristic features of many of the people in the Seam- dark complexion, black hair and grey eyes.

Our attention turned to the podium and the two large, glass reaping balls position there. Why did they need two? Why not just pick two names out of the same ball?

The Capitol representative (or escort) stepped up to the microphone and cleared her throat. This was Sugar Zest and she had been presiding over District Twelve's tributes for as long as I can remember- I couldn't even tell how old she was because of all the surgery she'd had. She looked very out of place in our grey little world with her bright pink lips, white fluffy hair and crimson eye-shadow. Her dress looked like it was made of hundreds of tiny diamonds. I guess it was supposed to sparkle in the sun or something only there wasn't any sun in the Seam.

We all waited on pins and needles while the seal appeared on the big screen behind Sugar and the anthem blasted from the speakers at the sides of the stage.

"Isn't this just a _glorious _day?" Sugar simpered, smiling as though it was the best day ever.

No one replied and no one had to because Sugar went right on ahead, "This is going to be a very exciting Quarter Quell! And they only come around once every twenty-five years!"

No one laughed. A small child began to cry from somewhere in the audience and a man coughed loudly.

"Ahem, well, let's not waste anymore time," Sugar continued, deflating somewhat.

She smiled gaily as she opened the tiny hatch and stuck her hand into the first reaping ball. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and a drop of sweat ran down my spine. I sought out my brother and saw Sam wasn't even staring at the podium. He had his eyes locked on me.

I smiled and gave Sam a thumbs-up. Someone shifted nervously and my brother was lost from my view. My mouth became very dry. I swallowed what felt like a piece of raw coal.

"The first male tribute for District Twelve is… Dean Winchester!" Sugar announced and I think my heart stopped beating.

This couldn't be happening. My name wasn't supposed to be called! No, I had to stay and look after Sammy.

"Dean, you gotta get up there before the Peacekeepers drag you up," Linnet hissed in my ear and I moved forward on numb legs.

I ducked under the rope and out into the aisle that split the potential tributes from the audience. Two Peacekeepers, Furlong and a woman named Stone, flanked me as I walked up the pathway toward the stage, making sure I didn't make a run for it.

Sugar beamed at me, one manicured hand beckoning me up the steps. Once I was on the stage, she put her hand on my shoulder and once more cried my name to the crowd.

I felt like I did during my first reaping but instead of puking on Linnet, I was in danger of losing my breakfast all over the Capitol's escort.

"Now, let's see who will be joining Mr. Winchester, shall we?" Sugar asked the crowd and stuck her hand in the second reaping ball.

Sugar pulled out the next piece of paper and opened it, her mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise, "The second male tribute for District Twelve is Samuel Winchester!"

"No," I whispered, "No, not Sammy."

"Come on up here," Sugar encouraged my little brother as he slowly made his way through the other tributes toward the aisle, "Don't be shy."

Sam took a couple of steps toward the podium before his legs gave out on him and he tumbled to the ground.

"Sammy!" I cried and moved to rush to my brother's aid. I stopped though when I saw Furlong and Stone grab Sam's arms and heave him up, half carrying half dragging him toward the stage.

Once Sam was close enough I went to him, shoving the two Peacekeepers away.

"Sammy, hey," I murmured, not caring that the whole of Panem was watching us right now, "it'll be alright, you'll see. I'm with you."

"Isn't that a touching moment?" I was vaguely aware of Sugar giving a running commentary.

"Two brothers, together as tributes," Sugar simpered and giggled with excitement.

I fought back when Furlong grabbed one of my arms and pulled me away from my brother, "Get off me!"

Stone took hold of Sam and we were both led into the Hall of Justice.

"Dean!" Sam cried out when Stone took him in the opposite direction of where I was heading.

"It's okay, Sammy!" I shouted back to him and tried to pull away from Furlong.

The Peacekeeper opened a door just off the main corridor and shoved me inside. I turned around immediately and tried the handle only to find it locked.

"Damn it!" I pounded my fist against the door in frustration.

What had happened? One second everything was fine and the next my whole world had come crashing down on me? Sam couldn't be a tribute! He was only twelve! That wasn't fair! I didn't really care so much about myself, I could get over it but Sam, he was just a kid.

Pacing around, trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong, I looked up when the door opened and my Dad entered the room.

"Five minutes," Furlong told us as he closed the door again.

"Dad! Have you seen Sammy yet?" I asked and ran a nervous hand through my hair.

Dad shook his head, "Listen Dean. Something is going on here."

"Hell yeah something's going on! I know it's not uncommon for siblings to be picked but-" I began but my Dad raised his hand to silence me.

Moving close to my side, Dad spoke in a conspiratorial tone, "I think the lottery was rigged."

"What?" I asked, "Why?"

Dad shook his head, "I don't know. But I think you and Sam were meant to be tributes."

I nodded, "The chances of Sam's name getting picked the first time around-"

"That's what I'm saying! I think something is happening here," Dad gripped both my arms tightly, staring into my face, "You need to be careful, Dean. You hear me? Even more so if something's going on."

"But what could be happening?" I asked, "A rebellion?"

Dad shrugged, "Maybe. I never believed that an accidental fire caused your mother's death. People living in the Seam are way too careful about fires because they know what could happen."

"You think someone set the fire on purpose? To kill Mom?" I asked and Dad ran a hand through his beard.

"I don't know," Dad admitted, "But I want you to be careful and keep your eyes and ears open."

I nodded. I could do that. I wasn't so sure about my father's conspiracy theory, but I couldn't deny that the chances of Sam's name getting picked did sound a little odd. It is very rare that twelve-year-olds are picked as tributes, rare, but it does happen occasionally.

Furlong opened the door, "Time's up."

Dad's hold on my arms tightened enough to be painful and he leaned forward so he could whisper in my ear.

"If you can't save your brother, you'll have to kill him."

I stood there as still as a statue as Furlong ushered my Dad out of the room.

I couldn't believe that my Dad had just told me to kill Sam. There was no way I'd be able to hurt my own brother!

No, Dad's wrong; I told myself, there is no conspiracy and there is no way I'd ever kill Sam. It's the stress, I reasoned, it's messing with Dad's head. It's happened to other parents before.

I sat down on the floor and put my head in my hands waiting for Furlong to come back.

The door opened again and I looked up to see Cassandra Robinson slip inside. I gave her a wan smile.

Cassandra knelt down in front of me, kissing my lips, her hands on either side of my face.

"Hey, don't cry," I told her as tears welled up in her dark eyes.

"You come back, Dean," She told me, "Promise me you'll come back."

"I can't do that," I murmured.

Cassandra nodded and slid her hand inside the pocket of her white dress, "Here, for your token."

I looked and saw a plain, silver ring on her palm.

"I can't take this," I argued but Cassandra placed the ring in my hand and closed my fingers around it.

"Yes, you can and you will," she said with a smile.

"Okay," I sighed and put the ring on the second last finger of my right hand.

"Will you do me a favour?" I couldn't help but ask.

Cassandra nodded.

"Will you go see Sammy? I don't think he's going to have many people come, you know?"

I knew Cassandra loved my little brother as like he was her own younger sibling and she would do as I asked. She smiled and kissed me one more time before leaving.

Linnet Drover came to see me too. He wished me good luck once again and told me to give some of those Careers hell.

"You got it," I told him with a cocky smile that vanished as soon as Linnet's back was turned.

Missouri was the next to visit. She shuffled into the room, shawls wrapped around her and a sad look on her dark face.

I wasn't entirely sure what to say so I remained silent, waiting for her to speak.

"You look after your brother, you hear? He's special, that one," she told me and patted my arm.

"I wish Sam's name hadn't been picked," I said quietly.

"I know," Missouri said, "But there's nothing you can do now but win."

I shook my head, "No, I'll make sure Sammy wins."

Missouri hummed as though she wanted to say something more but then she just peered at me for moment before turning toward the door and disappeared into the crumbling expanse of the Hall of Justice.

Ellen Harvelle was the last person to see me. I was surprised that she had come at all.

"If anybody could make District Twelve proud, it's you Dean," she commented as she gave me a warm hug.

"Thanks," I murmured. It was really terrible when everyone had so much faith in you when they knew you'd most likely be dead within a month.

"Keep little Sammy safe," Ellen told me and I nodded, "He's such a sweet little kid."

Sam was a sweet kid. He didn't belong in the arena, fighting to survive against the elements and other tributes. Something about this was so very wrong.

Tears appeared in Ellen's brown eyes and she wiped them away quickly, "I hate to say it, but I'm glad Mary isn't here to see you boys like this."

I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat. I could only imagine what it would be like if Mom was still alive. From watching the Hunger Games for the first fifteen years of my life, I knew what the grief could do to people. Mothers and fathers who lost their son or daughter grew old before their time- their hair turned grey or white, lines seamed their faces, their backs stooped- and sometimes even died not long after their children returned to them in pine boxes.

I was worried about Dad. Sam and I were all that he had left and even losing one of us would be a devastating blow.

"Ellen, don't let Joanna Beth watch, okay? Not this year," I asked, almost pleading with the woman.

Sam and Jo were friends and it wouldn't be right to make the girl watch my brother compete in the Quarter Quell.

Ellen, teary-eyed, leaned forward and kissed the top of my head.

"Think of Katniss and Peeta," Ellen whispered, "Let them guide you during the Games."

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are considered the patron saints of District Twelve tributes- not that the Capitol or the Peacekeepers are aware of it- and are often called upon by those selected for the Games and their families to protect them.

I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded. Sam and I could really use their help right now.

Ellen left and I had just sat down again when Furlong opened the door and told me we were leaving.

Stepping into the corridor I saw Sam- pale and shaky looking- but no longer in danger of collapsing again. He quickly rushed to my side and grabbed my hand.

"I'm scared, Dean," he whispered as Furlong and Stone led us toward the back of the Hall of Justice.

"Don't be," I gave him a reassuring smile, "I'll be with you the entire time."

We walked down the cobbled sidewalk to a part of the city I had never been to- the train station- and I couldn't help but stare at the sleek, black passenger engine that sat on the tracks. It rumbled like some monstrous beast and steam belched from its smokestack. Unlike the cargo trains with the words 'CAPITOL COAL' stenciled on the sides of the hopper cars, this train had a long line of coaches with windows on either side of them. No one came out to meet us but a door stood open near the front.

Sam squeezed my hand tightly as I helped him board the train first. Climbing up behind him, I turned as the door shut behind us, sealing our fate, it seemed.

I took a second to peer out the window and tried to catch sight of everything familiar to me in District Twelve lest I never returned. A hand on my arm made me jump before I realized it was my brother.

The train lurched and began rolling forward slowly, picking up speed as it left the station.

I smiled sadly when I heard Sam whisper 'goodbye' beside me, his face pressed against the glass of the window as he stood on the tips of his toes in order to see outside.

Don't worry Sammy, I thought, you'll make it back home if it's the last thing I do.

**Author's Note:**

**1. This fanfic is based on the **_**Hunger Games **_**books, not the movie.**

**2. Please review! **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Train of Thought

I turned from the window sharply when someone cleared their throat and there stood Sugar Zest, still dressed in her sparkly dress and looking more than a little relieved to be heading toward the center of Panem. She swayed slightly with the motion of the train, both hands held out to brace herself in the narrow corridor of the coach.

Sam grabbed my wrist and drew closer to me as if Sugar was going to separate us like the Peacekeepers had done.

"Your chambers are ready if you'd like to freshen up before dinner," She told us with a sympathetic expression on her face.

"Uh, sure, why not?" I answered. It would be better than staring out the window until we reached the Capitol.

"C'mon Sammy," I said and led my brother down the hall, finding our compartments easily enough.

Sam refused to leave my side so I slid open the door of one of the compartments and ushered him inside.

The chamber was huge, bigger than some of the houses in the Seam, even. It was actually three rooms together- bedroom, dressing room and bathroom- and they were all for us.

Momentarily forgetting exactly why we were on a train speeding toward the Capitol, Sam and I truly relaxed for the first time since our names were plucked out of the reaping balls. Sam grinned, showing dimples and ran to the bed. He jumped up on it and laid back.

I followed my brother and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Do you think this is what it's like in the merchants' houses?" Sam asked, picking up one of the pillows and squishing it between his hands.

"Probably," I mused and stood. I stepped into the bathroom just off the bedroom and stared for a second at the white basin of the sink.

The houses in the Seam have no running water. We have to get our water from a communal well and boil it. Collecting water in the dead of winter has its hazards, balancing a wooden or metal bucket in one hand while watching out for icy patches on the road is a learned skill. There have even been times when there was no water to be had because it was frozen solid or dried up because of a summer drought.

Besides the sink with cold _and_ hot water, there was a shower stall- something I've only ever heard about but never actually seen- with about a dozen different nozzles and buttons, and a genuine toilet.

Like the running water, the Seam also lacks plumbing- something only the merchants and citizens of the Capitol can afford- and features, instead, public latrines. They are on the far side of the Heap- which makes sense I guess- but it is one hell of a trek when you have to go.

"Dean, look at this!" I turned at the sound of my brother's excited voice and found him pulling clothes from a chest in the dressing room.

"Are all of these for us?" Sam asked, holding up a brown button-up shirt to inspect.

"I guess so," I shrugged and peered into the chest. Lined up in neat piles were about a dozen different pairs of trousers and shirts, all various colours and styles. They all looked too small for me though, this must be Sam's chamber.

"What are you doing?" I asked my brother as he began to unbutton the dress shirt he was wearing.

Sam looked at me with large, round eyes, "I just wanted to try it on. These clothes are ours, aren't they? You said so."

"Yeah," I agreed. I couldn't say no to my brother. Sam always got my hand-me-downs and I could understand why he'd want a new wardrobe.

Twenty minutes later when Sugar tapped on the compartment door both Sam and I were wearing fresh clothes. Sam had refused to leave my side and followed me down the corridor to my bedroom and sat on the bed, commenting on every shirt I pulled out until we finally decided on a grey button-up.

"There's food out in the dining compartment," Sugar said, her voice muffled slightly by the door, "If you're hungry."

I opened the door and saw that Sugar too, had changed and now she wore a tight-fitting violet dress with short sleeves that puffed out at the shoulders.

Sam peered out from around me at the Capitol escort.

"Don't be shy," Sugar smiled down at Sam, "Come on."

Sam pushed his hand into mine and we followed Sugar down the narrow corridor. At the end of the hall our escort pushed open a frosted-glass door on the left and Sam and I just stared.

The dining compartment seemed to _feel _expensive. It was full of items I'd imagine would be in the merchants' houses- china dishes, real silverware, crystal glasses, mahogany furniture, elaborately dyed rugs- and I suddenly felt like I wasn't good enough to enter. Sugar went ahead of us and sat down at the stained wooden table, its surface so shiny I could see the reflection of all the dishes in it, and poured herself a drink of some bright pink liquid. The table itself sat on a rug pattered in dark blue, crimson and gold- keeping it off a hardwood floor. A sideboard sat against the wall housing all manner of decanters and glasses for spirits. I found though, that I couldn't take my eyes off the table for longer than a few seconds. It was piled high with more food than I'd ever seen in one meal! My mouth started to water in anticipation and I felt Sam's grip on my hand tighten in his own excitement.

"Come in, come in," Sugar motioned to Sam and me with one manicured hand, "Before the food goes cold."

Sam released my hand and walked cautiously to the table as though everything would disappear if he moved quickly.

"That's it," Sugar encouraged Sam as he pulled out a carved wooden chair and sat down- his feet didn't even touch the ground- and stared all the delicious choices ahead of him.

Sam bounced on the chair once before turning to me, "C'mon Dean!"

I chuckled and sat down beside my brother. The scent of the food wafted up toward me and I found I was very hungry; I guess all the stress of being picked as a tribute had temporarily put a stopper on my appetite.

There was so much food I didn't know what to try first- I wanted to eat everything!

I saw platters of vegetables and meats, fish and fowl, tureens of gravies and sauces, jugs of brightly-coloured drinks, and baskets of breads and pastries.

Sugar was already eating, cutting green beans with slivered almonds into tiny pieces with her knife before bringing them to her mouth.

"This is just for lunch?" I asked and Sugar nodded as I reached out and grabbed a thick slice of bread.

The bread, from District Eleven, had a crunchy, brown crust and soft, white insides. It was studded with bits of nuts and dried fruit- just the scent of it set my mouth watering. I saw a tiny clay bowl of yellow butter and eagerly slathered it onto my piece of bread.

The flour we are rationed daily (and receive in a _tessera_- for those who take it) is usually the leftovers after the rest has been sent to the Capitol and is more often than not full of weevils. Butter is nonexistent in District Twelve- I don't even know if the merchants are able to purchase any- because it has been deemed an 'excess product' by President Ever and therefore is not needed in the Districts.

Sam pulled a steaming mug toward him and tipped it slightly so that he could drink. His eyes shot open as soon as he tasted whatever the beverage was and turned to me.  
"Dean, you've gotta try this!"

Sam tilted the mug in my direction and I saw it contained a slightly thick, dark brown liquid.

"What is it?" my brother asked Sugar and she smiled.

"It's hot cocoa," she answered, "All the Capitol children love it."

"I wish we had it back in District Twelve," Sam said in a wistful, sad voice and continued to drink the cocoa, completely forgetting that he'd wanted me to taste it.

As I turned back to my own plate of food I noticed that the table had been set for four and pointed at the empty spot with the bread crust, "Who else is coming?

Sugar's eyebrows rose in surprise, "Why, your mentor, of course!"

I nearly choked on my food, "Mentor? We actually get a mentor!"

The mentors were people who had won Games in the past from the current victims', ah, I mean, the Tributes' district.

District Twelve rarely won at the Games, especially since the 74th and I couldn't think of who our mentor could be. The winners didn't live with the rest of the District's population- after being crowned champion, they (and their family) were moved to the Victor's Village where they lived out the rest of their lives.

"Actually, he should be coming along anytime now," Sugar mused to herself.

Sam looked up from his plate- piled high with pastries and cookies- and smiled at me, "We're gonna win for sure!"

"That's the spirit!" Sugar exclaimed and clasped her hands together as though the thought of my brother's determination was endearing.

"It's just a pity though that you don't look more like the other people from your district," Sugar sighed and returned to her green beans.

I scowled. I didn't see how our looks had anything to do with winning the Games. It wasn't our fault that Sam and I didn't share the same physical features as many of the other people in District Twelve.

As I've said before, many citizens- mostly those living in the Seam- have a dark or olive complexion, black hair and grey eyes. The merchants often have blond hair and blue eyes.

Our Dad looks more like a resident of District Twelve than Sam or do, with his black hair and dark brown eyes. Mary, our mother, came from one of the merchant families. She had wavy, golden hair and blue eyes. Dad has told me that a lot of his fellow miners often asked him how he managed to catch the attention of someone of her status when they were first engaged. It's not illegal or anything for someone from the Seam to marry a merchant but it does raise eyebrows and questions. Such a union rarely happens anyway; the merchants and the miners stay within their respective areas and don't mix well.

My brother and I may not look much like our neighbours but I was sure we'd get picked out of a crowd as coming from District Twelve in an instant. Sam has dark brown hair that tends to go wavy when it gets too long, a slightly olive complexion and green eyes. I have light brown hair, hazel eyes and fair skin- heck; I even have some freckles too.

I looked up from my sour musings when I heard the compartment door open and our mentor walked in.

He was about an inch shorter than our father but sturdily built, barrel-chested and slightly bow-legged. He had reddish hair and beard and shrewd grey eyes. He wore a plaid button-up shirt, a brown suede vest and boots (all probably provided for him like the new clothes Sam and I were wearing). He nodded to us as he strode up to the table and sat down; he leaned his elbows on the polished wood and grabbed a jug of some bright blue juice, pouring it into his glass before Sugar spoke.

"Robert," She pointed at my brother, "This is Samuel Winchester."

My brother looked up and greeted our mentor and ducked his head, suddenly shy.

"And this is Dean Winchester."

Robert lifted an eyebrow, "You two brothers?"

I nodded, "Yes sir."

A sad look came into our mentor's eyes for a moment before Sugar chirped, "This is so exciting! Don't you think we'll have a chance to get a lot of sponsors for these two if everyone in the Capitol knows their story?"

Robert grimaced, "I've told ya before, call me Bobby. Only my Pa called me Robert."

Sugar nodded absentmindedly, "Yes, but what about the sponsors?"

"Sponsors aren't gonna matter when its only one of these boys who has a hope of making it home," Bobby grumbled and Sugar put her hands to her mouth, shocked I expect.

Our mentor sighed and lifted his cup to his lips and took a long draught.

"How do we get sponsors, exactly?" I asked, curious. From watching the Games in the past, I knew that sometimes Tributes received gifts from sponsors in times of need but I was completely unaware of how such a thing happened. Did it depend on how many other kids the Tribute killed? Or did it depend on what district they were from? Sometimes a Tribute never received any gifts at all.

"Sponsors are affluent people from the Capitol who pick a certain Tribute to 'help' during the Games. Sponsors are gained by a Tribute's popularity- you need to be likeable somehow, intrigue people, entertain them, and so on and so forth," Bobby answered, pointing a finger at me, "Sponsors are usually betting on their favourite Tribute to win the Games as well so it's to their own advantage to help the kid out."

"District Twelve rarely gets sponsors though," Sugar spoke up, shaking her head, "Especially since that incident during the 74th Games."

"Did you have any sponsors, Sir?" Sam spoke up for the first time in a long while and peered with wide eyes at Bobby.

I sighed and grabbed the cloth napkin beside my plate and began wiping cocoa from Sam's drink off his face.

"Dean! Stop it! I'm not a baby!" he protested, shoving my hand away.

"Yes you are!" I snapped and the dining compartment fell silent.

Sugar's gaze drifted downward and she sniffed. Bobby ran a hand through his hair and set his cup down.

Sam glared at me until he saw my expression and then his green eyes shimmered with tears.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he apologized and took the napkin I was still holding and cleaned his face.

_W_

Sam curled against my back as I lay awake, staring into the darkened compartment. My brother had refused to sleep alone and had begged me with his puppy eyes not to leave him alone.

How could I refuse? Sam and I had slept in the same bed at home since he was six months old and to tell the truth, I was secretly glad that my brother wanted me with him.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam's muffled voice called out quietly from beside me, "You still awake?"

"Yeah," I answered and rolled over so I was facing my brother. I could just see the dim light reflecting in his eyes.

"We're gonna win aren't we?" Sam asked innocently. I knew my brother was aware that there could only be _one _victor of the Hunger Games but didn't have the heart to remind him.

"Yeah," I muttered with more confidence than I felt. Even if I didn't come back, I would do everything in my power to make sure Sam survived the Games.

"Everyone's gonna be so proud of us, aren't they? Dad and Mr. and Mrs. Harvelle and Joanna Beth and Ms. Mosley and, well, everyone!" Sam whispered excitedly.

"They sure will, Sammy," I agreed because what else was I supposed to say? Both of us could be dead in a month's time.

I heard my brother sigh and felt him snuggle up closer to me. His breathing became slow and even with sleep.

I lay awake until the darkness in the compartment turned to grey and Sugar rapped her knuckles on the wooden door, announcing that breakfast was ready.

_W_

"We should arrive at the Capitol early tomorrow morning," Sugar informed us as she sipped at a mug of tea.

"So soon?" I asked through a mouthful of toast with jam _and _honey.

"Why yes! Although District Twelve is the farthest from the Capitol, the train ride only takes about two days," the escort chuckled and wiped at the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

Sam, gulping down hot chocolate as though there wouldn't be any in the Capitol, looked up and his eyes sparkled excitedly, "What does the Capitol look like? The teachers in school said it is really big and has really tall buildings but we didn't get to see any pictures of it."

Sugar smiled at Sam, perhaps thinking that my brother's curiosity was endearing and spoke up, "The Capitol is simply lovely, Samuel. It is bright and clean full of people."

"There's a lot of people in Twelve too… are there more people in the Capitol than back home?" Sam asked.

I took a moment to spread some marmalade on a scone and set it on my brother's plate. He'd be content to just drink that hot cocoa for breakfast but I knew he needed to have something more in his stomach.

"Yes, there are," I heard Sugar reply, "And many more children."

Yeah, I thought scornfully, 'cause none of them ever get chosen to compete in the Games.

Sam sniffed and I immediately worried that something was bothering him.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" I set down my toast and lifted my brother's chin with my fingers.

"I miss Joanna Beth," Sam whispered and I sighed. Sam was such a shy kid that it was often difficult for him to have friendships and Ellen and William Harvelle's daughter was just about his only constant friend.

"It's okay to miss her, Sammy," I started and then paused, "I'm sure she misses you too… but just think about how excited she'll be when you come home- District Twelve's champion!"

Sam smiled wanly and I was sure he was trying not to remember that there could only be _one _winner.

"Is Bobby around? I want to ask him some more questions about getting sponsors," I asked Sugar after stuffing the last bit of toast into my mouth.

I figured that sponsors- more than anything else during the Games- were the difference between life and death. Sure, many of the Tributes were killed off by each other but more often than not, once the herd started to thin out and the Gamemakers started getting bored, a kid could just as easily die from starvation or exposure because they didn't have a Capitol sponsor to send in supplies that couldn't be had at the Cornucopia.

"I think he's still in his room, Dean," Sugar suggested, "But you can go see for yourself. Maybe he's sleeping in a bit."

I stood up and stretched, my stomach full and happy.

"You okay here, Sammy?" I asked my brother and he nodded.

Sugar smiled at my sibling and I wondered what she was thinking about. I decided that I'd rather not know and left the dining compartment hurriedly.

I wanted to make sure Bobby knew I planned for Sam to win the Games- and God forbid if he didn't- than at least outlive me 'cause there was no way I was going to let anyone kill my brother.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to SPN Mum for reviewing.**

**2. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited/followed.**

**3. Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Capitol

I leaned forward and Bobby poured an ounce of liquor into my glass. We were sitting in a compartment full of plush couches and chairs. The furniture was wooden framed, ornately carved and dark-stained; the fabric was chocolate brown with gold thread running through it in a leafy pattern. A chestnut cabinet on one side of the compartment contained crystal glasses and decanters and liquors.

"I want to make sure that my brother comes out of this alive," I said and took a sip of the alcohol. It burned all the way down my throat but I managed not to cough.

Bobby leaned back in his chair, swishing his own glass of liquor around.

"I can only guide you," he said after a pause, "Give you advice."

I nodded, "Than tell me what to do for my brother."

Bobby sighed and tossed back his drink.

"The Gamemakers are gonna keep the arena's layout a secret," Bobby began, "But I can give you some tips."

I moved to the edge of my seat as though it would help me hear the man's words.

"Don't go for the weapons in the Cornucopia," Bobby said and I frowned.

"Why not? Shouldn't we get the weapons first so we have a chance to defend ourselves?" I asked, not being able to help the doubt creeping into my voice.

"You've watched the Games before, yeah? Well, you should know that most of the Tributes are killed on the first day, during that dash to the Cornucopia and more precisely, in the mad grab for _weapons_ because they are closest to the center of the Cornucopia."

I slumped, "Than what? If we don't go for weapons-"

"There should be supplies scattered around the Cornucopia- go for them," Bobby explained, "It's all well and good if you can get your hands on a sword or a bow and arrows but those can't keep you warm at night, they can't help you gather water or forage for food."

I nodded and wiped a hand over my face, "How's Sam going to survive this?"

Bobby lifted the decanter of liquor and poured some more into my glass, "You're little brother doesn't look like much of a threat- that's an advantage- which should keep him out of the other Tributes' sights for a while. The Careers will go for the strongest Tributes first, cut them down before hunting the weaker ones."

I gulped down the alcohol and scowled, "What about sponsors? Twelve hardly gets any sponsors anymore, not since the 74th Games."

Bobby breathed out a long sigh and scratched his beard, "It's all about popularity. Like I've said before, you gotta be likeable. The people in the Capitol want a spectacle and that's more than just watchin' kids murder one another… they want heroes."

I couldn't help but smile, "I can be a hero."

Bobby raised an eyebrow, "I'm sure you can but I think it would be best if we give the masses a bit of sentimentality."

I sucked in a breath, "What do you have in mind?"

"The Capitol loves tragic stories," Bobby told me, "Sure they love the funny kids or the brave ones but what they really adore is something they can cry over."

I didn't say anything.

"You and your brother, both Tributes for District Twelve," Bobby continued, "Well, that's just about as tragic as you can hope for."

"So you want Sam and I to take advantage of the fact that only _one_ of us _might _get out of this alive?" I asked and Bobby nodded.

"That's exactly what I want you to do," he confirmed.

I blinked rapidly at the tears forming in my eyes.

Bobby shook his head and set his glass down.

"I don't like this anymore than you do, son," he said, "But we have to play their game if we want to survive."

"Yeah," I muttered and stared into the bottom of my empty glass.

I closed my eyes for a moment. This was not fair at all. How in Panem were Sam and I going to get through this? Even if we did by some miracle both survive until the end, there was no way the Gamemakers would let us _both _win.

I opened my eyes again when I heard the compartment door open and looked up to see Sam slip inside.

I smiled at my little brother, "Did you have enough to eat?"

Sam nodded and greeted Bobby, "Hello Mr. Singer."

Our mentor smiled from beneath his ruddy beard.

Sam clambered onto the chair with me, practically sitting on my lap in order to sit with me. I didn't mind my brother's need for closeness and squished over as far as possible in the plush chair.

Sam leaned against my side and peered into my empty glass, "Can I have something to drink too?"

"Uh," I stammered but Bobby stood up and went to the liquor cabinet, pulling a jug of some bright orange liquid and poured it into a glass for my brother.

"What is it?" I asked as Sam took the glass and sipped at its contents.

"Orange juice," Bobby smiled.

I relaxed and grinned back at our mentor.

_W_

"What about this shirt Dean?" Sam asked as he buttoned up the dark blue dress shirt before holding his arms out for inspection.

"Looks good too, Sammy," I smiled. We were in my brother's compartment, relaxing as much as possible before we arrived at the Capitol. Sam had wanted to try on all the new, crisp clothes that had been provided for him and I couldn't say no.

Sam grinned at me and slipped the shirt off. I frowned when I saw how skinny my little brother was- I could see his ribs and his spine- and realized that Bobby was right. No Tribute would go after Sam- he looked harmless- they'd probably think he'd starve or freeze to death before they could kill him.

My little brother looked at me from over his shoulder, "Hey Dean?"

I turned my attention back to Sam's face, "Yeah?"

"I'll make sure you see Dad again."

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. My brows knitted together.

"Aw no Sam," I whispered, "Don't you say that. I am going to see you through this. _You _are going to see Twelve again."

Sam frowned, "I think you should be our Victor, Dean."

I wanted to say something else but a lump formed in my throat and all I could do was nod.

_W_

I skipped lunch in lieu of taking a nap. I needed to get all the rest I could before training began. I tried to convince Sam to sleep as well but he refused, saying he was hungry. Realizing that I wasn't going to get what I wanted I told Sam to make sure he ate something other than cookies and pastries.

I lay awake, staring up at the roof of the train, thinking about my home district. I couldn't help but think about Dad. I hoped that he wasn't alone in our house; I hoped that he was staying with Ellen and Bill Harvelle or even Missouri Mosley.

Before long my eyes grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep, images of Twelve's familiar grey, soot-grimed streets slipping into the darkness of unconsciousness.

_W_

I was woken when the bed I was lying on dipped down and I felt a small, warm body press up against mine. I opened my eyes and saw Sam curled up against me, his eyes half-open and a sleepy expression on his face.

I pulled myself up on my elbows and my brother's eyes shot open.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," Sam apologized tiredly.

"No worries, Sammy," I yawned, "I was thinking about getting up anyway. Haven't had my lunch yet, you know."

As if on cue, my stomach gave a long whine and Sam giggled.

"I hope you ate more than just sweets, Sam," I suddenly remembered that I had left my sugar-loving brother in the Capitol escort's care and was sure that Sugar Zest would turn a blind eye to Sam's eating habits.

My brother nodded, "Sugar made me eat parsnip soup and cheese and bread. She let me have a big bowl of strawberries afterwards."

I couldn't help but smile. Maybe Sugar wasn't as bad as I thought.

"Dean, do you think there's gonna be other Tributes my age in the Capitol?" Sam asked suddenly. I wondered what Sugar had been telling my brother while I'd been sleeping.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully, "Maybe."

I hoped there weren't any more twelve-year olds entered into the Games. It was always the hardest to watch the young kids in the Arena. They were the weakest Tributes and few of them survived past the first few days of the competition.

I sat up and ran a hand through my short hair. Turning, I spoke to my brother, "Why don't you get some rest? I'm gonna grab a snack and be right back."

Sam nodded and curled up on my vacated spot on the bed. He closed his eyes tightly and within minutes his breathing became slow and even.

I slipped out of the compartment silently but didn't feel much like eating. Instead I wandered down the corridor, peering into rooms every so often and wondering where the Gamemakers were going to put us.

The Arena was always in a different place. Created by the Gamemakers specifically for the Hunger Games, the location was kept very secret. The exact outline of the arenas seemed solely based on the imaginations of the Gamemakers.

Wherever this year's Games was held, I couldn't help but be confident that Sam and I would fare better than some of the other Tributes. Even the Careers who'd trained for the Games since they could walk, still enjoyed a cushy existence and wouldn't truly know what it was like to eke out a living in a district that half the time seemed to be forgotten by the Capitol.

Yeah, Sam and I might fare better than our fellows for a while but really, neither my brother nor I knew what awaited us in the Gamemakers Arena.

_W_

I woke early the next morning. All I could think was: This is it. Today we arrive in the Capitol. Today we begin the fight for our lives.

I know I was supposed to be strong for Sammy but in the privacy of my own thoughts I realized how completely ridiculous it was to believe that either one of us would survive. I mean, ever since the 74th Hunger Games hardly anyone from District Twelve survived. I think Robert Singer is the only Victor our district has had since Peeta and Katniss won.

I sat up in bed and looked over at my brother. Sam looked so peaceful and young and alive. I gulped and brushed my brother's bangs away from his brow, waking him in the process.

"D'n?" He muttered sleepily and blinked his emerald green eyes owlishly.

"Didn't mean to wake you," I apologized and stood up, stretching.

I smiled when Sam curled back up and snuggled into the pillows. I decided that my brother needed all the rest he could get; pretty soon he'd have to learn to sleep with one eye open and be prepared to defend his life at a moment's notice.

I slid the compartment door closed and quietly walked down the corridor to the dining compartment. I expected to be the only one up at this hour- the sky outside was slate grey, not unlike that above the Seam- and was surprised to find Sugar sitting at the wooden table, sipping from a porcelain cup.

"Good morning," the escort smiled. This morning Sugar's fluffy white hair was studded with tiny sapphires and she wore a dark blue sleeveless dress that flared out at the bottom. The garment also had the blue gemstones sewn into the fabric of the skirt and bust.

I nodded in answer to Sugar's greeting. She looked me up and down, a wry expression on her face and it was only then that I not changed my clothes; the ones I wore had wrinkled from being slept in.

I ignored Sugar and sat down at the table across from her. I poured myself a mug of hot cocoa and piled my plate with food.

After a few minutes of silence- I was too busy eating as much as I could as though I was having my last meal- I spoke up.

"How long until we reach the Capitol?" I asked through a mouthful of boiled egg.

Sugar looked up and set her cup down, "In a little over an hour."

I frowned and my breakfast turned to lead in my stomach.

Sugar reached out, patted my hand and gave me a sympathetic smile.

"It's alright to be a little scared, dear," she said kindly.

"You must be glad to be going home," I managed to say through a mouth as dry as cotton.

Sugar nodded, "I am. The Districts can be so uncivilized."

My frown deepened and I felt anger begin to bubble up inside me. Sugar apparently didn't appear to notice my expression. She didn't think she'd said anything wrong.

The interior of the carriage suddenly darkened as though night had arrived early.

"What's happening?" I asked and stood quickly, ready to run to my brother if danger dared show its face.

"We're just going through the tunnel," Sugar explained and gas-lamps on the walls of the compartment illuminated the table in a warm glow.

I relaxed. I had heard about the tunnel. It had been carved through a mountain range once known as the Rockies a long time ago. The mountains separated the Capitol from the Districts and had been the first line of defense against the rebels during the Dark Days. The only way to enter or exit the Capitol was by train through the narrow tunnel.

I peered up toward the ceiling of the compartment, thinking about the millions of tons of rock mere inches above us. It made me think about the mines that my father worked in, the mines that I would have looked forward to working in if I hadn't been picked during the Reaping.

The sound of running had both Sugar and I turning toward the compartment door and I wasn't surprised to see my brother slip inside.

"Dean! What's going on?" Sam ran to my side and stared up at me in the dim light with wide eyes.

"It's alright, Sammy," I ran my fingers comfortingly through his long locks; "The train is just going through a tunnel."

"Why don't you have breakfast with us, Samuel?" Sugar suggested and I pulled out the chair beside me.

Sam gave a small, embarrassed smile and climbed up onto the chair. He had been plagued with nightmares ever since he was a toddler and sometimes was afraid of the dark.

"Can I have some cocoa?" He asked in a tiny voice.

"Sure thing," I smiled and poured a generous amount into the cup sitting before him.

The Capitol's escort smiled sweetly at us and sipped her drink. The compartment door opened a second time and Bobby Singer entered. He was wearing a beige button-up shirt and dark brown trousers. His reddish hair was combed neatly and it looked like he'd recently trimmed his beard.

Our mentor sat down beside Sugar and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Do you want something to eat Robert?" the escort asked.

Bobby shook his head, "Only coffee for me thanks. And I told ya, call me Bobby."

I watched as our mentor sort of hunched over the table, hands wrapped around his cup of coffee and a troubled look on his face. I guessed that he was thinking about the time when he was in my position- a young man with an uncertain future, sure that he'd never return to District Twelve again- and wondered if I would have that same look on my face some day.

I clapped a hand to the back of Sam's neck, "Let's get changed. I'm sure they'll want us to look civilized for our arrival into the Capitol."

Sugar didn't even blink. Bobby looked up at me quizzically, as did my brother. I shrugged and Sam followed me out of the compartment after one last mouthful of cocoa.

I moved slowly down the corridor to our rooms, a little disoriented from the shadows cast by the gas-fueled lamps. Sam led us to his compartment first. I waited with Sam as he picked out a forest green long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. Sam sat on the bed to pull on the boots provided for him- dark brown leather that came half way up his calves- and wiggled his feet for a moment like a little boy.

Moving across the corridor, my brother helped me choose an outfit from the dozen or so in my compartment. I tried to appear happy and at ease but I was growing more and more anxious by the second as the locomotive barreled on toward the Capitol.

Sam saw through my attempt and immediately reflected my poorly disguised mood.

"Sammy," I held my brother's face in both hands, "Hey, don't worry about this, okay? You'll be alright."

I leaned forward so that my brow rested against Sam's.

"Sing the song, Dean. Please," my younger brother asked and I couldn't refuse his request.

"_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_," I began almost in a whisper, "_Take a sad song and make it better_."

Sam smiled and I couldn't help but grin with him.

"_Remember to let her into your heart and you can start to make it better_," I continued, raising my voice a little.

This was the song that I had sung to Sammy when he was a baby, the same song our mother had sang to me when I was little. The song that had survived the Dark Days and had helped my brother and I through many a cold, lonely night when our father worked late in the coal mines.

"Dean, look!" My brother lifted his head as the shadows in the compartment were replaced by sunlight and he ran to the window.

Standing on tiptoe, Sam peered out and gasped. I moved to stand behind him and felt my own mouth open in awe. The train was rolling downwards, toward a city- the Capitol- of glass and steel. Even at a distance the Capitol looked like it was made of jewels. The sun reflected off the buildings in a rainbow of colours.

I gripped my younger brother's shoulder tightly and only then remembered to breathe.

"It looks so pretty," Sam muttered, "Not like home at all."

"Yeah," I answered distractedly. Staring at the bright, tall structures of steel and glass I suddenly missed the squat, soot-smeared shacks of the Seam.

I heard Sam sniffle and I tried to peer at his face.

"Sammy? Hey, are you okay?" I asked and my brother hunched his shoulders and nodded.

"What's wrong?" I pressed, knowing full-well that he wasn't alright.

My brother turned to me and he wiped his face with his sleeve, "I want to go home, Dean."

I sighed and knelt down so that I was eye-to-eye with my younger sibling.

"I know you do," I murmured and pulled Sam into a hug.

"I miss Dad… and Joanna Beth… and… and…" Sam began crying in earnest, his entire body shuddering with the sobs.

All I could do was hold onto my brother and try not to start crying myself.

"We're going to get through this, Sammy," I lied, "You'll see. We're gonna get through this."

"Y-you promise?" Sam muttered, his cheek pressed against my shoulder, "B-both of u-us?"

I nodded because I couldn't bring myself to say anything. All I could do for my brother was make empty promises and pray that I survived the Games long enough to protect Sam.

I had never felt so powerless before. I had always been able to keep Sam safe and now the prospect of not being able to do so terrified me.

"_Hey Jude, don't be afraid_," I began to whisper the song again because it was the only thing I could think of, "_You were made to go out and get her_."

Sam slowly began to calm down, sniffing and swiping at his face, embarrassed.

I stood up and went to the window again, watching as we raced toward the Capitol at breakneck speed, wondering if Sam and I would by some miracle make it through the 125th Hunger Games alive or end up as just another pair of names in the already long list of District children who lost their lives.

I looked down when Sam moved to stand beside me and smiled encouragingly at him.

If Peeta and Katniss were out there like some people believed they were, I hoped that they would extend some sort of influence and help my brother and I win or at least make it as far as possible in the Games.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to missingmikey, SPN Mum, L.A.H.H, TeamSamandDean for reviewing.**

**2. Please leave a review! I love reading them!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Art of War

I couldn't stop staring at the skyscrapers towering over the train as it headed toward the station. Glass of every colour imaginable sparkled in the sunlight. The streets were immaculately clean, as though no one had ever walked on them. I had never seen anything more beautiful- or gaudy- in all my life.

Sam gripped my hand tightly in his as we gaped at our surroundings. I jumped slightly when someone knocked on the door.

"Would you like to join Robert and I in the dining compartment?" Sugar's voice called out sweetly, slightly muffled by the closed door.

I looked down at my brother. Sam's eyes were still slightly red but he nodded and gave me a brave smile, showing his dimples.

"Sure! Just give us a minute," I told Sugar and knelt down so that I was eye-to-eye with my brother.

"I'm okay now, Dean," Sam assured me even before I had a chance to speak to him.

I smiled and shook my head, "Just remember, Sammy- I'm not going away. I'm going to stay with you the entire time, alright?"

Sam nodded and wrapped his skinny arms around my middle, "I won't leave you either, Dean. Don't be scared, okay?"

"Not when I have you to protect me!" I exclaimed and we both chuckled good-naturedly before I straightened up and took Sam's hand in my own and we left the bedroom a little more light-hearted than when we had entered it.

_W_

The Remake Center was sterile and chilly. The floors were stark white ceramic tiles and the walls had been painted a drab grey that reminded me of the sky above the Seam back in my home district. Every other surface had a stainless-steel gleam to it.

Dressed only in a fluffy white robe, I shivered as my prep team fluttered around me like a flock of loud, colourful birds.

As soon as Sam and I had stepped off the train, Sugar rushed us into the Training Center- an impossibly tall, imposing building that was to be our home for the next the next week and a half- and into the Remake Center so that we could be made presentable for the Tribute Parade.

My brother had refused to leave my side and I was sure he would have made a scene if anyone had tried to pry us apart but thankfully we were both shown into the same room- where we now were the center of attention as our individual preparation teams worked on us.

Sam sat across the room from me, wearing his own white robe and blushed beet red with embarrassment. I smiled encouragingly at him but that didn't seem to help much.

The three members of my prep team were unlike any people I had ever met before. The trio chattered to one another incessantly in their strange Capitol accent as I was bathed and my finger and toenails were cut, my hair trimmed, and had nearly every inch of my skin buffed until it was as pink and tender as a newborn's.

"Lucrece will be here soon," Clotho announced and clapped her hands together. She didn't seem much older than I was but we couldn't have looked more different. Her irises were a deep plum colour that matched the violet dress she wore. Her high-heeled shoes clacked noisily on the floor whenever she moved. Her lips were dyed magenta and formed into a heart-shape when she smiled. Her black hair was long and covered with sparkles and strands of blue and purple ribbon.

"It's just a shame that you don't look like the other people from your district," Iras added sadly.

I frowned. Why does everyone keep saying that?!

Iras was short and round, certainly well-fed. She might have been middle-aged but I couldn't really tell- she didn't have the usual crow's feet at the corners of her eyes or laugh lines near her mouth- but was matronly enough to make me wonder. Her sleek hair was done up in a bun at the top of her head with little curlicue strands near her ears. She waddled comically when she walked, her feet clad in red silk slippers. Her red and gold dress made her rosy cheeks seem even brighter.

The final member of my prep team was Ajax. His favourite colour was green. His hair was green, his eyes were green, his clothes were green and he even had a tattoo of a vine of some sort sprouting from the collar of his shirt, up the side of his neck, across his cheek and around his left eye.

Sam's prep team- Troilus, Diaphanta and Perdita, I learned later- were just as unusual and obnoxious as my own.

I couldn't help but snicker when I saw one of the women pinch my brother's cheek like he was a toddler and fawn over him. Sam, to his credit, managed to grin and bear it.

Finally Sam and I were left alone to await the arrival of our stylists and I quickly padded across the room to my brother's side.

"How're you doing?" I asked my younger sibling. We had been here for over an hour and although our prep teams had been doing most of the work, I felt exhausted.

Sam sighed in frustration, "If I'm old enough to be a Tribute than why is everyone acting like I'm a little kid?"

I nudged my brother's shoulder with my own, "Because no one can resist those 'puppy-eyes' of yours."

Sam scowled at me for a moment but then smiled.

"Do you think Dad's going to watch the Parade?"

I stared at my hands for a moment, "Of course. It's going to be broadcast into everyone's homes and they'll probably show it in the center of town too."

Sam knew this, every year the Games and all the events leading up to them were shown on television and all citizens of Panem were required to watch.

I wondered what was really bothering my brother.

Before I could get a chance to ask though, the door opened and in walked our stylists.

Lucrece was old enough to be our grandmother. Her naturally white hair was braided down her back and although her face showed no wrinkles, her skin was as thin as parchment- I could clearly see the tracery of blue veins beneath her milky complexion. Her brown eyes were still sharp and keen and her mouth twitched into an amused smile when she saw my brother and I. Hippolyta was the exact image of Lucrece- although some years younger than her- with the same alert brown eyes but instead of white, her hair was light blonde. The older woman wore a white frock dress with silver trim. Hippolyta wore a sleeveless black dress with a hem that ended about an inch above her knees. In District Twelve she would have earned herself a day or two in the stocks if she'd ever ventured outside wearing clothes like that. When President Ever took over, she introduced a dress code for all the outlaying districts. This means that boys and men must wear trousers and shirtsleeves at all times in public while girls and women are required to have dresses that reach the knees or lower. Short sleeves and rolled cuffs are acceptable in the summer months only and for men and children. Women must have their arms covered up to the wrist.

"You two are brothers, I hear," Lucrece spoke in a sharp, though not unkind voice.

"Yes ma'am," I nodded, "I'm Dean Winchester and this is Sam."

Lucrece waved off my introduction with an exasperated expression.

The woman approached me and took hold of my chin, turning my head from left to right as she ran a critical eye over my features.

"Hmmm," she pursed her lips together and narrowed her brown eyes, "The prep team could have done something with your eyebrows."

I frowned as Lucrece picked up one of my hands and examined the nails, "You'd certainly have been a miner if you hadn't been picked at the Reaping."

I stared down at my hands, trying to figure out what Lucrece had meant. I heard Hippolyta whisper something to my brother and Sam chuckled in response.

"Too bad we can't dye your hair black," Lucrece continued, "That way you'd at least look like you're from District Twelve."

"Ma'am-" I began to tell Lucrece it didn't matter what we looked like, I was sure everyone would know Sam and I were from Twelve, when the old woman shushed me.

"Don't call me ma'am," she instructed irritably.

"Mama," Hippolyta began, "They can't help it."

I scowled angrily but Lucrece sighed and nodded, "If you must. At least it shows someone took the time to teach you manners."

I clenched my jaw tightly to keep from saying something very rude and stupid.

"I wish we could do something really spectacular," Hippolyta lamented, looking over her shoulder at her mother.

Lucrece sniffed, "Yes, but you know that no one has done anything provocative for this district since the 74th Games."

Hippolyta turned to smile at my brother, brushing back the long bangs that he'd refused to have trimmed, "Looks like we have two coal miners again this year."

_W_

Standing beside my brother on the chariot, I felt completely ridiculous. Both of us were wearing our coal miner outfits: thick-soled work boots, blue cotton dress shirts underneath denim overalls and yellow plastic hardhats with little lights in the front.

I couldn't help sneering contemptuously when Lucrece and Hippolyta had shown us the costumes. They were _not _what the men from the Seam wore down in the mines. I'm sure that the protective clothing was required but no one regulated such things in the districts… or at least not in Twelve. The only difference between my father's good clothes and the clothes he worked in was the coal dust ground into the fibers.

Waiting for our turn to ride down the Avenue of Tributes on our chariot pulled by two black horses, Sam and I gripped hands tightly.

All I could think was: Dad's watching this, waiting to see us. All of Twelve is going to see Sam and I!

My mouth went dry as the chariot for the Tributes from District Eleven began to move forward and the sound of cheering drowned out everything else.

I startled when our chariot jerked and started to roll forward. I clutched my brother's hard enough that I was probably hurting him but Sam didn't say anything- his iron grip on my fingers mirrored my own.

We cleared the overpass and entered the Avenue of the Tributes- just a long stretch of road between two enormous masses of screaming Capitol citizens. I squinted in the bright lights, unable to discern individual faces in the writhing bleachers.

Glancing around I saw myself and my brother on a giant television screen. Sam looked so small and pale in his miner's outfit and I blinked up at my own picture stupidly for a moment before looking away.

The horses pulled the chariot to a standstill before a podium where President Goneril Ever sat. She looked the same as she did in every television broadcast I had ever seen: cold, calculating and arrogant. She clapped the fingers of her left hand to the palm of her right, giving the Tributes a prissy little applause.

The President stood and everyone went silent. Sam moved unconsciously closer to me and I wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Welcome Tributes," The President began in her dismissive voice, "And welcome Citizens of Panem, to the 125th Hunger Games."

Raucous cheers broke out at this pronouncement- none of them coming from anyone standing in a chariot- before President Ever raised her hand for silence.

The President continued speaking, addressing us Tributes specifically, telling us we should all be honoured to be in our position, that if we do well we would bring pride to our districts, blah, blah, blah.

I stopped listening. It didn't really matter anyway. I had heard this very same speech every year since I was old enough to watch the Games and after a while it had lost all meaning. Although the president could make a good show of it, she really didn't care who won or lost. This was about keeping the Districts in line and preventing another rebellion.

_W_

I stared at the liquid swirling down the drain as I stood under the steady stream, the water pounding over my head and shoulders as hot as I could take it.

It had taken me nearly ten minutes just to turn the shower on, what with all the multicolored buttons and dozens of different handles. Eventually I'd figured out what to do- the big blue button in the middle turned the water on and the silver handle directly beneath controlled the temperature- and allowed the water to wash away my stress.

Yeah, right.

I breathed heavily through my open mouth, trying to ignore the aching muscles in my back.

Tomorrow Sam and I would start our training, along with the twenty-two other Tributes.

I couldn't help but ask myself: Why us? Why Sam and me? What did we do to deserve this?

Ask anyone from the Capitol and they'd say that it was all the luck of the draw; that it had been coincidence that out of hundreds of other boys of eligible age, our names had been plucked from the reaping balls.

In District Twelve it was just about the worst thing that could happen to a family, aside from a mine collapse. There was nothing _lucky _about having your son or daughter named as a Tribute. Some people even thought that the lottery was rigged, that the Peacekeepers- with strong ties to the President- made examples of troublesome families by having their children's names picked. It was no secret that Increase Grim- the head Peacekeeper- had it in for our family and after what Dad had told me about a conspiracy, I had to admit, the idea didn't seem so farfetched anymore. Even if the only conspiracy had to do with Grim shutting Dad up by making sure both Sammy and I were chosen to participate- and die- in the Games.

Turning the water off, I slid the glass door back and grabbed one of the fluffy white towels provided.

Despite being fully aware of exactly _why _I was here, I couldn't help but relish the good, hot running water and rich food the Capitol allowed us Tributes to have. Why not pamper us a little bit? It was like the last meal a condemned man was given before he made his way to the gallows pole.

Drying off quickly, I changed into the pants and shirt I'd found sitting on the bed as I entered my temporary bedroom. The trousers were dark brown cotton; the shirt was beige button-up… clothes that wouldn't have been out of place back home in Twelve.

I peered at my reflection in the full-sized mirror on the back of the door and sighed. I felt a pang of loneliness even though I wasn't alone here and wished I could see Dad one last time before the start of the Games. I wished I could see Cassandra and Linnet and Ellen and Missouri once more. Despite all the decadence the Capitol offered, I missed our tiny shack of a house that swayed precariously when the wind blew too strongly, I missed the grey, sunless sky above the Seam and, heck, I even missed the smell of the Heap in high summer. Even with all its imperfections, District Twelve was my home, the only place I'd ever known, full of familiar friends and enemies, and just felt right. Like I've said before, even though I don't look like many of the people from Twelve, I was a full-blooded son of that distant district and always would be.

Shaking my head at my own sappiness, I opened the bathroom door and peered out. I wasn't surprised to see Sam lying on my bed, hands beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting patiently for me.

My stomach growled loudly and Sam turned to me, smiling.

"You hungry?" I asked and my brother nodded, "Starving."

Sam took my hand as I moved past him and I didn't pull away. Although our rooms were across the hall from one another's, I was sure that I'd find Sammy in mine more often than not. Neither of us was used to sleeping alone. I wouldn't say out loud but I was glad to know that Sam needed the comfort of my presence as much as I needed his.

The dining area was even more extravagant than the one in the train. The tabletop was made of glass; the chairs were constructed of some lightweight, clear material to match the table with grey cushions to sit on. The floor was black marble that surely came from District Two. The walls were a painted a warm cream colour with abstract paintings to add some brightness to the room. Bobby and Sugar were already seated, their plates already full.

Sam and I took seats side by side, making our escort smile fondly at us. Before I could touch anything- my hand moving to a pitcher of amber coloured liquid that smelled delicious- a servant wearing a red dress appeared at my elbow and poured the desired beverage for me. I looked at the girl as she worked and felt my mouth go dry. The colour of the dress was a badge of her station; she was an Avox- a traitor to the Capitol- and little better than a slave. Her blonde hair had been cut short, shorter even than mine, and her nails were trimmed down almost to the quick. Her face was blank, showing no emotion whatsoever and her blue eyes were dull.

She moved silently around me and poured hot cocoa into my brother's mug. Sam remembered his manners and piped a 'thank you' to the young woman, only to frown when she didn't respond at all.

When the girl had retreated, Sam looked worriedly at me.

"Did I say something wrong?"

I shook my head and gave him a queasy smile. How was I going to tell Sam about the Avox? Sam was too young to have been taught about traitors in school, not in great detail anyway.

"She can't talk, Sammy," I told him quietly.

"Oh!" Sam exclaimed, "Why?"

Before I could answer, Sugar- who'd apparently been listening in- sniffed haughtily as she buttered a piece of bread.

"Avoxes have their tongues cut out, child," she informed by twelve-year old brother.

Sam's eyes went wide in shock and he paled visibly.

"You shouldn't talk to them," Sugar told Sam; Bobby glowered angrily at the escort for her lack of tact.

"Why?" Sam asked again, turning to me, "She seemed sad. Why did they cut out her tongue? Did she say something wrong?"

I looked helplessly at Bobby. We had to be careful about what we said, especially with Sugar so close by.

"She did a bad thing," Bobby explained as gently as possible, "Something that could have put a lot of people in danger."

I relaxed; it was probably best to be vague.

"Really?" Sam asked, incredulous.

Just drop it Sammy, I begged him silently. I didn't want to risk him getting in trouble for asking the wrong sort of questions. Not this close to the Games.

"Okay," Sam said with finality but I knew that he wouldn't forget about this. I'd probably have him asking me about the girl once we were alone.

The rest of the meal went by silently- as if we were all Avoxes- but I could practically hear the wheels turning in my little brother's head. He wasn't stupid, far from it, he'd be thinking on everything we'd told him about traitors and likely connecting it to what he knew about the justice system in Twelve.

When the girl in the red dress returned to fill our glasses again, Sam stared straight ahead, acting as though she was invisible. I think a little piece of my heart broke off as I watched my brother. Whatever the poor girl had done to piss off the Capitol, I doubted that it had been bad enough to earn her this position. Avoxes were never given a fair trial. If someone was suspected of being a traitor they were arrested on the spot and had their tongues removed and made to be a slave for the rest of their miserable lives. Sometimes traitors were interrogated for more information- especially if more than one party was suspected of sedition- and could be killed during the torture or executed afterwards. No one questioned it. The victims' family certainly didn't utter a peep against the Capitol for fear that they would likewise be taken in and tortured or made into an Avox.

Once we had eaten, Sugar invited us to watch the Tribute parade on television. I didn't say no. I decided that I might as well get a look at who Sam and I would be up against in the arena, knowing that the other Tributes would be doing the same.

_W_

"Dean?" I opened my eyes instantly at the sound of my little brother's voice. I could feel his back pressed up against my side and let out a sigh of relief.

"What is it, Sammy?" I whispered, squinting through the darkened bedroom at the ceiling.

"Do you think Dad's okay?"

I sucked in a deep breath, "Sure he is. He's strong. He'll be rooting for us the whole time."

"That's not what I meant," Sam grumbled sleepily.

"Then what?" I blinked, finding it hard to keep my eyes open.

Sam didn't say anything for a long time and I thought he'd fallen back to sleep when his voice startled me, "Do you think he's right about Mom?

I was shocked, "What did Dad say to you?"

I sat up and leaned against the bed's headboard. Sam pulled himself up and sat cross-legged beside me, curling into my side.

"Said he didn't think Mom died by accident," Sam muttered, "Said someone was playing with us."

I shook my head, "Sam… Dad… he was just stressed out… you've seen the way people act when their kids get picked. Besides, other than Grim, who cares about us? We're just another mining family from District Twelve."

"Anyway, if… someone wanted Mom dead… they didn't have to set a fire and take out most of the Seam just to get at her," I continued tightly, memories of the months spent as a refugee in the Hob coming back.

"But what about me and you? Both of us got picked," Sam asked and I wondered if Dad had told Sammy to kill me if I couldn't be saved.

"We're not that popular! Siblings get picked sometimes, you know that, and I guess it was just our turn," I claimed, feeling better to be saying these things out loud.

"Okay Dean," Sam concluded and slid down until he was lying on the bed again, "Go to sleep."

Chuckling, I did as he told me and laid a hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath my palm, reassured by his warmth and drifted back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to SPN Mum, L.A.H.H, Lucydolly22, missingmikey, Aislinn Rose for reviewing!**

**2. Please leave a review! Let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Survival of the Fittest 

The first day of training arrived. I won't lie and say that I wasn't nervous. I was terrified. I didn't let Sam know just how scared I was though; I knew that if I started panicking, he would too. Sam and I changed into our uniforms- soft black trousers and black shirts with a large yellow 12 stitched onto the back and a smaller one on the front, on the left side- and made our way down the hall to the dining area.

I wasn't really hungry and didn't think I'd be able to eat anything. Sugar, however, wasn't having any of it and told me I should eat something.

"You will be staying in the Training Center for lunch and that is usually held in the late afternoon," She explained, spreading marmalade onto a piece of toast, "So you'll be ravenous by the time you do get to eat."

The Avox girl served us again and I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her she didn't need to wait on us.

As I munched away on a bowl of fruit, I looked to our mentor.

"Any advice?" I asked Bobby. He was nearly asleep in his own breakfast and I didn't wonder if he hadn't slept at all the night before. Being back here must be pretty hard on him, all those memories.

Bobby sipped at a steaming mug of coffee that the girl had just poured him, "Pay attention to the survival skills they'll teach you. A lot of the Tributes are only concerned with learning to hack each other to pieces and forget that the elements will kill them just as soon as the other competitors."

I nodded and muttered, "Thanks."

Sam was picking at a hardboiled egg and looking a little green.

"Sammy, you feeling alright?" I asked, concerned and my brother shook his head.

I put my hand against his brow and frowned; he did feel a little warm.

"Bobby, is there any way you could get some medicine? I think Sam's getting sick," I asked our mentor and Bobby shrugged, "I'll see what I can do. I'm sure the Gamemakers won't want one of their Tributes under the weather when the Games start. It'll look bad one 'em."

"Boys!" Sugar exclaimed, almost dropping her toast on her lap, "You had better get down to the Training Center! You have five minutes!"

Swearing, I grabbed my brother's hand and rushed out of our apartment. Running down the hall I slammed the palm of my hand onto the button at the elevator and waited impatiently as the numbers above the door slowly climbed upwards.

"Why do we have to be at the top?" I grumbled irritably and pulled my brother inside the elevator when it pinged and its gold-plated doors slid open.

"Are we going to be late?" Sam asked, gripping my hand tightly in his.

"Nah," I told him, "We'll be fine."

Great, I thought angrily, first day of training and we're already late. What a message that's gonna send the others.

Before the elevator doors had fully opened, I was squeezing myself out, dragging my brother behind me.

The Center wasn't difficult to find. Shoving open a pair of double doors, Sam and I stumbled into a large open room with concrete floors and a row of bleachers on one side where the Gamemakers sat.

Our fellow Tributes were already there. Of course. I heard sniggering and whispering as Sam and I approached the group.

"So glad you could make it!" A girl with blonde hair cut in a pixie style called out to a chorus of giggles.

All of the other Tributes were wearing uniforms nearly identical to ours; the only difference was the numbers.

I glared at the girl who had shouted, she had a yellow number 1 on her chest; she was a Career. I realized I was still holding onto my brother's hand and let go, wiping my sweaty palm off on my pants.

Everyone looked up when the double doors opened and a stony-faced man strolled in. He was wearing all black, like us except that he didn't have any number.

"Listen up;" he commanded in a deep voice, "I'm not here to babysit you. My job is to make sure you don't kill each other. There are twenty-four stations that you must go to and master. The next five days you will learn the skills you need to survive out in the Arena. I trust you will all take this seriously because if you forget something or decide to slack off, your life could be the price you pay."

I peered past the group of Tributes and noticed that there were indeed twenty-four stations. A great number of them had weapons- everything from slingshots to swords were hung up on racks, glinting in the lights- and I could almost feel the tension in the room build as everyone laid eyes on them.

"If you have any questions," the man said, "Come to me. Other than that… have at it."

Almost as if they were guided by magnets, the majority of the Tributes flocked to the weapons stations. Sam and I stayed back as the others squabbled over the chance to use the maces or daggers first.

I felt my brother move closer to me and I couldn't help but think: Dear God what have we gotten ourselves into?

"C'mon Sammy," I mumbled and led my brother over to the first open station I saw.

I looked down and saw a bunch of potted plants and a booklet.

Remember what Bobby said, I told myself, it's not going to matter if you can cleave someone's skull in two when you're freezing to death or something.

I picked up the booklet and flipped through it, seeing colour drawings and descriptions of plants that we might encounter, both helpful and harmful.

I sat down, figuring we would be here for a while and with Sam by my side, studied the book from front to back, and used the actual potted specimens for reference.

The sounds of sparring were loud in the gymnasium- swords grinding against each other, the twang of arrows leaving their bows, grunts and cries from the other Tributes- so that half the time I forgot that we were being watched as we trained.

By the time the overseer- Rufus, I later found out- told us to switch stations, Sam and I could name and describe over a dozen different species of plants and tubers and knew whether they were safe to eat or not, if they could be used as medicine or if their leaves would give you a painful rash if they were brushed against.

I wasn't keen on going to a station featuring weapons- at least not yet- so I led my brother a few feet down the line and stopped in front of what looked like a messy pile of twigs and stones.

"What are we supposed to do here, Dean?" Sam asked and picked up one of the sticks curiously.

Rufus, probably seeing my brother and I just standing there, made his way over.

"Don't tell me you've never seen kindling before," he grunted.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, embarrassed and nodded.

"C'mon Twelve," he said conspiratorially, "Show all of Panem that you're as good as these Career morons."

That had me laughing out loud. Sam smiled politely up at the older man. If Rufus was a born-and-raised citizen of the Capitol he certainly didn't seem one. He looked to be ten or so years older than our Dad, with a dark complexion and graying, curly hair. He certainly didn't have that inherent arrogance or sense of entitlement that I'd felt from everyone else I'd met here so far. I instantly liked him.

Rufus moved away to yell at the Tributes from District Ten who were hacking at one another with axes and Sam and I got down to business.

"Why do we have to know how to build a fire, Dean?" Sammy asked as he pushed the stones into a circle, "They're always dangerous in the Games."

I nodded. Although a fire was nice to have at night because it kept some of the local wildlife away and offered warmth, it was also a beacon that screamed a Tribute's location for miles. Many times the first kids to be killed off during the Games were the ones who foolishly lit fires.

I shrugged, "It will still be useful to know how to make a fire, Sam."

As I tented the kindling around the inside of the stones, I couldn't help but think of the fire that had torn through the Seam nearly thirteen years ago.

I jumped when a chilly hand touched mine and I peered up to look into my brother's eyes, "I don't feel good, Dean."

Sam whispered and lowered his gaze, looking ashamed. I frowned; there was no way we could skip training but if Sam was really sick I didn't want him to be here either.

"Just hold on for a little while longer," I told him, "Bobby's going to get you some medicine, okay?"

Sam nodded and sniffed. The wind left my lungs in a whoosh and I deflated, feeling useless. If we were back home I would have tucked Sam into bed and made him some broth and sat with him until he fell asleep, maybe even gone to Missouri Mosley for one of her tinctures. All I could do now was assure my brother that our mentor would be able to pull some strings and come up with some miracle curative before the start of the Games.

"Aw, is the baby gonna cry?" a voice sneered, "Save that for the Arena!"

I turned and saw the blonde girl who'd made the comment about our late arrival. Standing quickly, my hands clenched into fists. Normally I would be appalled at the idea of hitting a girl but she was a Career and not long from now she'd just as soon stab me in the back as look at me.

"Back off!" I snapped and took a- hopefully menacing- step forward.

"You don't scare me," the blonde scoffed and put her hands on her hips, "You going to hit me? Go ahead…. So all the Gamemakers can see."

The girl looked over her shoulder and I saw that the Gamemakers were indeed watching us. I suppose it got boring watching a bunch of kids learn how to fight for hours on end.

The girl's fellow Tribute put a hand on her shoulder. She had long, dark brown hair, full lips and brown eyes, "Glamour, it's not worth it. Save it for the Games; when it will really do damage."

I noticed that some of the other Tributes had stopped practicing and were staring at us. A boy with black hair and hazel eyes moved toward the two girls from District One.

"We're all in the same boat here," he began but stopped when Glamour turned away from him.

"Hey! What's going on here? This ain't a break!" Rufus shouted and stomped forward, looking from Sam and I to Glamour and her partner.

I looked at my brother- he'd remained crouched by our practice campfire the entire time- and shook my head. Let the Careers explain.

Before sitting down I looked up at the Gamemakers and my gaze was drawn immediately to the Head Gamemaker. Unlike many other citizens of Capitol, Azazel King looked fairly normal; middle-aged with short, light brown hair. The only thing that was different about his appearance and signaled him out as a true Capitol resident was his bright yellow eyes.

I frowned when I noticed that King was looking right back at me. I shivered and turned away, unnerved by his unblinking scrutiny.

It wasn't like I hadn't seen him before- he always did an interview with Archimedes de Soto after the Games- but watching him on the television screen and seeing him in person was completely different.

_W_

When lunchtime came around late in the afternoon I found myself unable to eat. Sam just picked at his plate of food, looking sad and sick.

We were huddled together at the end of the table, staying clear of the others. I could hear Glamour and her brown-haired partner talking to the boys from District Two.

I startled when someone touched my shoulder, "Mind if I sit with you?"

It was the black-haired boy from the confrontation with the girls from One. He peered at me nervously and I shrugged, why not? Like he'd said before, we were all in the same boat.

The boy slid into the seat beside me, "I'm Casey, by the way."

"Oh, uh, I'm Dean," I stammered, feeling stupid. He was just a kid, like me.

"This is my brother, Sam," I pointed at my sibling with my fork; Sam didn't even look up.

Casey cringed a little, "Brothers… Tough break."

"Yeah," I muttered and tore a chunk from my piece of bread and crumbled it in my hands.

"So what do you think about the girls from One?" Casey asked, leaning forward slightly.

"That blonde one seems like a bitch," I commented, swearing- something my Dad would smack my mouth for if I did it in front of him- and eyed the Tribute in question.

"The other one," Casey smirked, "Vanity, I think her name is, doesn't seem too bad."

"Than why don't you go over and talk to them?" I growled angrily. I wasn't really sure why Casey was talking to me in the first place. He was from District Four and it was usually Tributes- Careers- from One, Two and Four that teamed up during the Games.

"Because I want to talk to you," Casey deadpanned.

I sighed, "I guess it won't kill me to listen… will it?"

Seriously, Casey leveled his eyes at me, "We both know how the alliances work and we both know it'll be the kids from Districts One or Two who are going home."

I nodded. I did know.

"We're all underdogs here," Casey continued, "So why not team up? Help each other?"

No way was I going to agree. I didn't trust anyone, Career or not, except my brother.

"There are only two people I trust and you aren't one of them," I answered.

Casey laughed good-naturedly.

"How about the parade, eh? You think you got it bad with coal miner costumes? Our stylists made us dress up as lobsters!"

I had to give him credit for poking fun at himself and for changing the subject so effortlessly.

I shook my head as I grinned at the memory of the two human-sized lobsters squished into the back of District Four's chariot.

"What about the girls from One? What were their stylists thinking?" I exclaimed. Glamour and Vanity had been completely naked except for the jewelry they were forced to wear.

Casey snorted into his plate of food and even Sam gave a weak smile despite not feeling well.

_W_

I leaned tiredly against the wall of the elevator as it lifted my brother and I up to the top floor. I wasn't about to complain though, not when Sam was as pale as a sheet and had sweat rolling down his face.

I reached out an arm and Sam moved closer to me, huddling against my side really, and sniffed sadly.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy," I muttered comfortingly.

Sam nodded but continued sniffling and wiped at his eyes a couple of times.

The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open soundlessly. I led my brother down the hall and pushed open the door to our apartment, coming face to face with a man and a woman wearing severe expressions and long white coats.

Immediately sensing danger, I shoved my brother behind me and glared at the pair of intruders.

"Who are you? What do you want?" I snapped, angry that the Capitol already had the nerve to make my brother and I participate in their Games and now send a couple of Peacekeeper look-alikes to bribe or beat us into submission.

"Hold on there, Dean," Bobby's voice called from the interior of the apartment, "Before you start throwing punches."

Sugar appeared and strolled right past the two intruders.

"They're doctors, sent from the Medical Center to help your brother," the escort explained.

That didn't make me feel any better.

"Bobby said he was going to get medicine!" I argued. I still had one hand against my brother's chest so that he couldn't move from his guarded position.

Sugar told me, "These doctors will cure your brother in a matter of hours."

I really didn't have much of a choice. I wanted Sam to get better but trusting his care with a couple of strangers- and a couple of strangers from the Capitol no less- made my skin crawl.

Sam slipped out from my hold and moved to stand beside me.

"Dean," he said quietly, "I'll be okay."

Sam was gazing up at me with his puppy-eyed expression in full effect.

"Sammy," I began but my brother interrupted me, "I don't trust them either but I trust Mr. Singer."

My mouth gaped open stupidly.

Sam smiled slightly, "Besides, they can't have their Games if they're down by one pawn, can they?"

I turned to the doctors, "I'm coming too."

The woman shook her head, "We can't allow that. You will wait here."

Fear once again reared up in the pit of my stomach, "I'm not leaving my brother alone."

"Dean," Bobby spoke up again and gave me a pointed look.

"But I… they…" I stammered, knowing it was futile to argue.

The woman reached out and took Sam's hand, "Come along, boy."

The man had said nothing the entire time and completely ignored us as though we were beneath him.

"Thank you so much!" Sugar piped up and the man nodded his head once before following the woman.

The man closed the door after himself and I turned, furious, to the mentor and escort.

"What was that!?" I snarled.

"Calm down, Dean," Bobby grumbled, "You're brother's not going to get hurt."

"Capitol doctors are the best there is," Sugar offered, "Far better than any healer the Districts can come up with."

I frowned, thinking about Missouri, who had helped Sam more times than I could count.

"I don't know about you but I'm famished," Sugar said to nobody in particular and headed to the dining area.

Bobby sidled up close to me and whacked me upside the head.

"What was that for?" I snapped indignantly.

"Dean, you're in the Capitol if you've forgotten! Yes, you're a Tribute and they need all twenty-four of ya for the Games but they care nothing for yer folks back in Twelve!" Bobby informed me.

I felt my heart clench with fear. I hadn't thought about everyone back home.

"Bobby," I whispered, feeling like all the wind had been knocked from me, "You don't think they'd hurt Dad or our friends do you?"

"Not if you don't give 'em a reason to," Bobby said sagely.

I gulped and felt the older man pat my back, "Just be a good little Tribute; keep your mouth shut, pretend like your excited an' honoured to be here and your family should be alright."

"Okay," I mumbled, "I can do that."

Closing my eyes for a moment I chastised myself for being such an idiot. I was from District Twelve! I knew what had happened to Katniss and Peeta when they had pissed off the Capitol and still I couldn't keep my opinions to myself. It would be nothing at all to the President and the Gamemakers to have me meet the same fate as my home district's patron saints.

What was worse; I hadn't given one thought to Sam's safety. Not really. And Panem forbid my brother got punished because I had been a fool.

"No harm done, Dean," Bobby said, "Now, why don't you tell me all about your training while we wait for Sam?"

_W_

Sam returned exactly four hours later. I had tried to talk to Bobby- mostly to keep from worrying but without much luck- and ended up just staring at the re-runs of the Tribute parade that the television showed constantly. I couldn't stop myself from practically running to my brother and wrapping him in a tight hug. He had entered the apartment alone and I had the feeling that once the doctors had cured him, they'd kicked Sam out of the Med Center. Despite my lack of trust in the doctors, I had to admit that they did as they had said they would. Sam was as healthy as he usually was. But something was off, I could tell. Although Sam didn't look ill anymore he was terribly quiet.

"Are you alright?" I asked as we sat at the dining table and palmed my brother's brow.

Sam nodded, "Just tired."

"Have something to eat," Sugar suggested, "It will make you feel better."

Sam drank a mug of hot cocoa and stared at the food on his plate without eating it.

"What're you hungry for, Sammy?" I asked as I scooped up the dregs of the lamb, rice and plum stew I was eating.

Sam shrugged and then looked up at me, "Ellen Harvelle's cookies."

I smiled. It was a rare treat when Ellen made cookies for Joanna Beth and Sam. There was no sugar to be had but there was an old beehive in one of the scraggly trees near the Heap and Bill Harvelle would brave the stingers just to get a chunk of honeycomb so his wife could use the honey.

I looked over the table and saw a tray of sugar cookies. I grabbed it and slid two of the biscuits onto my brother's plate.

Sam mumbled thanks and ate the cookies. I looked up and met Bobby's gaze and frowned along with him.

Sam's not going to make it, Bobby's look told me and I couldn't help but agree with the old mentor. I knew that it was more than likely, almost a certainty that Sam and I would both die in the Games, but I also knew that it was a certainty that I would not die before my brother. I would be there to protect Sam every step of the way, protect him with my dying breath if I had to and God help the Tribute who tried to take Sammy away from me.

After dinner Sam and I went to my bedroom. I was exhausted and I didn't even have to ask if my brother was. I closed the door and the curtains and we both climbed into bed. I lay on my back and Sam curled up against my side.

Sleep evaded me for a long time. I stared up at the ceiling and thought about my father and mother. I missed Mom. I thought back on my Dad's insistence that someone had set the fire that had destroyed a large portion of the Seam and wondered who would want to kill Mom and why. As I've mentioned before, Mom came from a merchant family and although her marriage to Dad wasn't illegal or anything, it was uncommon. Not something I'd imagine would warrant a death sentence. Maybe Dad had pissed someone off and they had killed Mom as punishment. That didn't seem as farfetched as a conspiracy theory at least.

_W_

The week of training went by slowly. And painfully. It soon became very clear that Sam and I were not at all prepared for the Games. Unlike the other Districts, citizens of Twelve don't learn about mining until they are eighteen years old and needless to say my brother and I had never held a weapon of any sort. Sure we had seen the pickaxes and shovels and hammers used by the miners but had no experience using them.

Casey and the other boy from Four were already experts at fishing- one of the survival skills we were meant to learn- and could throw a spear into the chest of a straw-stuffed dummy with ease as though the weapon was a harpoon.

When Sam and I finally arrived at our first weapons station, my hopes for us only sank lower- if that was possible. My little brother took one look at the flail hanging on the rack before him and I knew there was no way he'd be able to pick it up, let alone swing it into someone's face.

Not one to show weakness in front of my fellow Tributes- who would soon be trying to kill me- I grabbed the flail, found it much heavier than I had expected and hefted it.

I had seen the boys from District Ten using the flail and thought that if they could do it than there was no reason why I couldn't.

Cautiously at first, I swung my arm lazily in an arc, the flail pointed towards the ground. Sam watched me with wide eyes and took a few steps back.

Smiling grimly, I lifted the flail and used the momentum to heave it downwards as hard as I could. The spiked ball hit the concrete floor- chips flying up in every direction- with an unnerving crunch.

I caught my brother's eye and smiled confidently at him. Sam bit his lip and eyed the weapons nervously.

_W_

When the final day of training arrived I felt that I had at least a little something to show the judges. Today our education in survival was at an end but every Tribute would be called back to the Training Center to showcase the skills they had learned before the Gamemakers. A score on a scale between 1 and 12 would be attributed to each contestant indicating their best chances of survival in the Game. The scores are made public and help Tributes to attract Sponsors. The higher the number, the more likely the Gamemakers thought you would live.

I wolfed down my breakfast, barely tasting it, and practically ran down to the Training Center with Sam in tow.

The other Tributes were already waiting outside the gymnasium.

"Late again!" Glamour called out with a smirk, "Too bad that's not a skill that can be judged!"

I ignored the blonde girl. There was nothing I could do about her right now anyway. I leaned against the wall and Sam sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest as we prepared for a long wait.

"What are you going to show the Gamemakers, Sam?" I asked curiously, sliding down the wall until I was sitting beside my brother.

Nobody bothered us; most of the other Tributes looked pale and nervous. This was a very important part of the Games. A low score could mean that they wouldn't get any Sponsors and be left floundering when they could really use the assistance.

Sam shrugged, "I don't know… I was thinking about telling them everything I know about the plants…"

I nodded. I think most of the Tributes assumed the Gamemakers wanted to see how well they were at killing one another and often displayed their skills with weapons. That was what I was going to do… much to my chagrin after finding out what my brother was going to show the judges.

Bobby had warned us not to be _too _good during training, that we should keep the other Tributes (and the Gamemakers) guessing until the very end. I thought it was good advice. Even if we showed the judges what we were best at today, our fellow contestants would still be in the dark.

Sam wasn't great with weapons but he did have a knack with the slingshot and knives. I liked the idea, though, of displaying what survival skills he'd learned instead of his prowess with the weapons.

Hours passed and the group of Tributes sitting outside grew smaller and smaller. I sighed, knowing that by the time my brother and I were called the Gamemakers would probably be tired of watching a bunch of kids show-off and that left us at a disadvantage.

Soon only Sam and I were left. I gave the last girl from Eleven an encouraging smile- which she ignored- and took a deep breath.

About twenty minutes later Rufus poked his head out from between the double doors and called my brother's name.

Standing with him, I gave Sam a quick hug.

"Good luck, Sammy," I whispered as I embraced him.

"You too, Dean," he replied, squeezing me around the middle very hard, "See you back upstairs."

I watched as Sam slipped through the double doors without looking back and sent a quick prayer to Katniss and Peeta.

I started pacing, wondering if the Gamemakers would be impressed with my brother and nervous for my own turn.

Only ten minutes- ten minutes! Oh Panem, what went wrong?- after Sam had left Rufus called me into the gymnasium.

"Knock 'em dead, Twelve," the overseer muttered as he closed the door. Crossing his arms over his chest and looking disinterested, he nodded in the direction of the bleachers.

The Gamemakers were all in attendance. And they all looked bored. The only one who appeared even the slightest bit interested in me was Azazel King. His yellow eyes practically shone in the bright lights.

I walked slowly forward, feeling like a man on his way to the gallows, and took a bow from the rack. I notched and arrow and pointed it at a dummy that stood across the room.

For one crazy moment it felt as though Katniss Everdeen was guiding my hand because when I loosed the arrow it hit the dummy right in the face, where its left eye should have been.

I realized only afterwards that a Tribute from District Twelve displaying his skills with a bow and arrow were probably not the best way to impress the Gamemakers. Next I hit the dummy in the right eye, the throat and the chest in quick succession.

I was just about to grab a flail off the rack and go at a second dummy with it when Azazel raised his hand.

"I think we've seen enough," he said, "You may go."

I nodded and trudged out of the gymnasium. I wasn't sure if I had done well or not. The Gamemakers certainly didn't seem impressed. I would just have to wait until the scores were broadcasted.

My mood didn't improve as I rode the elevator up to the top floor. All I could think about was the Games beginning in two days time. Despite all the training I had done I felt completely unprepared. The Arena was designed to kill. If the Tributes didn't get to each other than the Gamemakers would. One year the Tributes had been placed in a dry, desert canyon and when they hadn't murdered each other fast enough, the Gamemakers had a rockslide take out a least six of them.

Sam was waiting right inside the doorway when I entered.

"Hey," I muttered in greeting.

"You didn't take very long," Sam told me.

I shook my head, "Neither did you."

Sam shrugged, "The only one paying any attention to me was King."

"Huh," I stretched and added, "Is there any food around? I'm starving."

Sam and I walked into the dining room and sat down at the table laden with dishes.

Sugar Zest, dressed in a puffy teal velvet dress and matching eye-shadow, strutted into the room. I was a little surprised to see Lucrece and Hippolyta following in the escort's wake. Today, Lucrece's white hair sat atop her head in a severe bun. She wore skin-tight black suede pants, knee-high leather boots and a white peasant blouse. Her daughter had her light blonde hair in a ponytail while she wore another revealing dress- this one an awful orange colour- with a hem that stopped mid-thigh and a v-neck that showed off her cleavage.

Sam blushed bright red when he saw Hippolyta and pointedly stared at the food on his plate instead of her.

"How do you think it went?" Sugar asked in a prim voice.

I shrugged, "The Gamemakers are difficult fellows to read. I think Azazel King liked my arrow-work though."

Sugar, who had been sipping from a glass of wine the Avox girl had poured for her, spluttered noisily. Lucrece pounded the younger woman on the back hard enough to make Sugar cringe with pain.

"A-arrows? You used arrows?" Sugar gasped when she was able to breathe again.

I looked around at the three women who now seemed very grave.

"I knew it was a bad idea," I muttered.

"That was a stupid move on your part," Lucrece told me, "All that's going to do is bring up bad memories for citizens."

What do the people of the Capitol have to feel bad about? I thought but didn't ask it. The 74th Games were considered an embarrassment for President Snow and the head Gamemeker at the time, Seneca Crane.

"But Dean's not Katniss or Peeta," Sam spoke up and Sugar gasped as though he had just said the most foul curse word.

I thought that speaking their names on the other hand was very brave. If he'd uttered them back in Twelve- and if a Peacekeeper had overheard- Sam would be in a world of trouble.

Sam, realizing what he'd done, turned white as a sheet and closed his eyes in fear.

I immediately wrapped an arm around my brother's shoulders, "It's okay, you're not in trouble."

I looked pointedly at the three women and Hippolyta was the first to speak, "Of course not… It was just a slip of the tongue."

Sam peered up through his fringe of dark hair but didn't look much better. I'm sure he expected a platoon of Peacekeepers to break down the door and drag him away.

"Ahem… well, the scores will be shown later this evening… why don't you two have something to eat and then have a bit of a rest?" Sugar spoke up and gave a shuddering breath, "I think we've had quite enough excitement for now."

The women left us alone, probably going to talk about the upcoming interviews, and I looked concernedly at my brother.

"I'm sorry Dean!" Sam apologized, "I didn't even think!"

"Sammy," I released him from the hug and gripped his upper arms, "I understand."

Sam sniffed and I saw tears well up in his eyes, "I'm just so scared, Dean… I've never been this scared in my whole life! I don't want to die!"

I cringed, "I'm scared too, Sammy. I'm sure the other Tributes are scared… they'd be crazy not to be. Listen, we're going to go out to our interviews tomorrow and charm all those uppity Capitol jerks and then we're going to go into the Arena and make everyone back home proud of us, okay?"

Sam wiped his nose with his sleeve and nodded, "O-okay Dean."

I pulled Sam close and kissed the top of his head. I didn't let go of Sam for a long time- not even caring that the Avox girl was still nearby and probably watching- and wished that we could stay like this forever.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to Liza Halliwell, missingmikey, SPN Mum, L.A.H.H, Aislinn Rose, and Guest for reviewing.**

**2. Please review! I love knowing that there are people out there who are reading this!**

**3. Here's a little bit of info on some of the Tributes you've already met (I'll give you more when I introduce others) because you might recognize some of them: **

**The two girls from District One, Glamour and Vanity are also known as Meg and Ruby in **_**Supernatural. **_**Glamour is based off the first season Meg when she has short blonde hair and Vanity is the Ruby we know when she dies at the end of Season Four. Casey is based on Scott Carey- one of Azazel's 'special children'- who appears in the episode 'Hunted' in Season Two. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Enter the Arena**

Sam gripped my hand nervously as we watched the television, the national anthem blaring out from the speakers. Sugar, Bobby, Lucrece and Hippolyta were also giving their rapt attention to the screen.

My brother and I shared the couch with our mentor. Sugar and the two stylists sat in the plush chairs beside us.

The anthem faded and Archimedes de Soto's flawlessly-featured face appeared on the screen. His hair was a deep mahogany colour that just had to be unnatural- his goatee a slightly lighter hue- and grey eyes that had a perpetually bored look in them. He was wearing a white suit with a black handkerchief in the breast pocket.

"This is looking like it will be a very exciting year," he spoke to the man accompanying him, Azazel King himself.

"Yes, there's nothing better than a Quarter Quell," King smiled at the viewers and I shivered at the head Gamemaker's yellow-eyed gaze.

De Soto chuckled, "And it looks like we've got some really talented Tributes this time around."

King nodded, a smug smile plastered on his face, "I think those crazy kids are going to give us one heck of a show this year!"

"Now I know you can't say much about what's in store for the contestants but I've heard that you and the other Gamemakers have cooked up some special surprises this year," de Soto simpered and King chuckled.

"You're right, I can't say but I can say that this will be a year that no one will ever forget," Azazel said ominously and I felt Sam nearly crush my fingers as his grip tightened.

De Soto gave a fake peal of laughter, "There you have it, folks! Straight from the head Gamemaker himself! This is going to be a Game to remember!"

Bobby groaned audibly as de Soto announced that the training scores would now be read.

I knew what Bobby was thinking because I had the same thing on my mind: Sam and I would be lucky to squeak by with a six or seven. Anything lower than that and we'd be nothing more than dead men walking.

A picture of Glamour from District One flashed up on screen as de Soto cried out the score.

"Eight!"

No surprise there. Careers always got the highest scores. Glamour's partner, Vanity, received a nine.

Casey managed to get a seven but his partner was marked down as a five.

As the scores were called out- lower and lower as the Districts went higher- I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back as the Tributes from District Eleven received a five and a four respectively.

I almost wanted to close my eyes as my photograph filled the screen next.

"Eight!" de Soto cried and my mouth gaped open. That wasn't a great score but, damn, it was a whole lot better than I'd expected.

My brother's picture came up next. Sam looked so small and shy in the photo.

"Three!" My heart stopped.

"Sponsors can now start choosing Tributes to support immediately after this program," de Soto said, grinning like an idiot.

The television went blank as Bobby turned it off.

"Congratulations Dean!" Sugar clasped her hands together happily.

"Thanks," I muttered and looked at my brother. Sam smiled at me but I saw that he had lost all the colour in his face and his hand shook in mine.

"Dean," Sam breathed, "I'm sorry."

I frowned, "For what?"

"Th-the low s-score!" Sam lamented, "Nuh- no one's gonna sponsor me!"

I shook my head, "They don't have us beat just yet, Sammy. We still have the interview with de Soto tomorrow. We'll make sure that every citizen in the Capitol knows who we are and that we're not going down without a fight!"

Still trying to cheer my brother up, I turned to Bobby.

"What score did you get?"

The old mentor grunted, "Was only a couple of years after the 74th so I only got a two."

Sam's eyes went wide, "They only gave you a two?"

Bobby nodded, "Didn't get myself any sponsors either as a matter of fact."

"You see if Robert came come out as Victor than there's nothing stopping you, Samuel!" Sugar exclaimed, trying to help but not really doing so.

Lucrece stood up, "We'd better get to work on what you'll be wearing tomorrow. You have to look good."

I frowned. Didn't Sam and I look good now?

"But not too good," Hippolyta added after her mother. The two women strolled out of the apartment, no doubt to discuss how plain Sam and I were and how would they ever make us look decent.

"I think we should have a celebration!" Sugar suggested and she looked so happy that something inside told me not to say no.

I mean, Sugar Zest was annoying and ignorant but she at least tried to keep our spirits up and that little bit of effort didn't make her so bad. I wondered if the other Tributes' escorts were as bubbly and positive as Sugar. Unless they were looking after the Careers, my guess would be no.

We watched as Sugar went into the dining room and came back holding four long-stemmed glasses in her hands, the Avox girl following with a bottle of champagne.

Although Sam and I were not really in the mood to celebrate anything, we drank the alcohol without comment.

"See, don't you feel better?" Sugar asked, smiling broadly.

No, I thought, no amount of champagne is going to make me forget that in two days I'll be fighting for my life and my brother's life. You can act all cheery and chirpy but that won't boost Sam's score up from a three.

Bobby cleared his throat and set his glass down, "I'm going to go see if I can scrounge up some Sponsors. Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky."

I chuckled darkly into my glass of champagne but nodded as Bobby took his leave.

I looked at my brother and suddenly wondered what Dad must be thinking. I hoped he didn't think Sam a lost cause. I hoped he knew I would protect Sam from anything and anyone the Gamemakers threw at us. I hoped he got to see Sam again, when all this was over.

_W_

I pulled the starched white collar of my dress shirt away from my neck but Lucrece slapped my hand.

"Ow!" I scowled at the stylist as she continued to tug and straighten the suit I was going to wear for the interview.

"Stop fidgeting," Lucrece grumbled and I stopped, sighing dejectedly.

I have to admit that my interview costume wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The suit itself was double-breasted and made out of a material that was actually very soft. It was a dark grey colour that sort of shimmered when the light hit it just right. The dress shirt was as white as snow with a coal-black tie to make it seem even brighter. The trousers were the same colour and material as the jacket and my black dress shoes were polished to a high shine.

I had never had clothes this good back in Twelve. Even new clothes are cheaply made and were usually cotton or wool. Shoes and boots were leather or suede. Nothing special. Even the merchants didn't have clothes like the ones I was now wearing.

Sam wore a single-breasted suit that was such a dark shade of green that it was almost black. Like me, he wore a white dress shirt, black tie and shiny dress shoes.

Hippolyta was fussing with Sam's unruly hair, trying to make it stay flat when all the bangs wanted to do was flop over his forehead.

The night before, Bobby had taken Sam and I aside and discussed what we would talk about during the interview.

"Remember to pull at the citizens' heartstrings," he had advised, "They love all that melodramatic crap."

"Dean, talk about Sam," Bobby had told me, "Talk about how you took care of him after the fire… and don't be afraid to overdo it."

I nodded. Although I didn't really like talking about that time in our lives- even with Sam- I knew that this was my one last chance to get as many Sponsors as possible so I thought I could manage it, if it would help Sam and I in the long run.

Bobby's advice to my brother was a little broader. Sam was still a kid and as such he might just win the hearts of every mother in the Capitol.

"Talk about yourself," Bobby said after a pause, "What you like to do, what your favourite subject in school is, that sort of stuff."

"Okay," Sam had agreed and smiled so that his dimples showed.

I thought that if he smiled like that during his interview he could have the Capitol in his pocket during the Games.

Now I wasn't so sure I would be able to talk about Sam in front of millions of Capitol citizens, never mind the hundreds of people watching in the Districts.

"Dean? Did you hear me? It's time to go!" Sugar's voice brought me from my musings and I looked up to see Sam staring at me worriedly.

"Are you alright?" he asked nervously.

"Oh, yeah, of course," I mumbled, "Don't worry about me, Sammy."

The interviews were to take place at the Avenue of the Tributes, where we had all stood in our chariots to listen to President Ever's speech. Once again the stadium would be filled with cheering, gawking Capitol citizens. There would be cameras and bright lights and a stage where we would sit and talk to Archimedes de Soto.

Sugar, Bobby, the two stylists and our prep teams- who'd worked on Sam and I for four hours before we were deemed fit to be seen by Lucrece and Hippolyta- walked us down to the Avenue. Sam's hand found mine and I gave it a comforting squeeze.

You can do this, I thought; unsure if I was talking about myself or my brother.

The sound of the crowd reached us long before we entered the far side of the Avenue.

The noise made me think of the ocean, or at least what I imagined the ocean would sound like as the waves crashed into the shore.

Maybe I should ask Casey sometime, I thought, half-bemused by the idea.

I noticed that our entourage had stopped, "We can't go any further."

I nodded and Sugar actually ran up and hugged me. She had tears in her eyes. I returned the gesture a little stiffly, shocked by her sudden affection. After releasing me, she leaned down and planted a kiss on my brother's cheek, quickly using her handkerchief to wipe off the lipstick that she'd accidently smudged on his face.

"Good luck, boys," she said in a watery voice. I wondered if she was just being overly emotional but decided that maybe Sugar really did care about us.

Lucrece simply nodded at me in a stately manner but Hippolyta hugged Sam and then me.

"You two look very handsome," she smiled, "Even for Tributes from Twelve."

Instead of getting angry- what good would that do- I just chuckled and shrugged the comment off.

Ajax, Clotho and Iras flocked around me for a minute, chattering a noisy goodbye before being quieted by a look from Lucrece.

Sam's prep team- Perdita, Diaphanta, and Troilus- had him laughing hard enough to make tears stand out in his eyes. Sam hugged each member of the team like they had known each other for years rather than a little over a week.

I smiled when I heard Perdita tell Sam that if she had been allowed to, she would have Sponsored him; this statement was followed by agreeing yeas from Troilus and Diaphanta and I wondered just how many people would sponsor my brother.

Sugar Zest, still sniffling, waved us away with her handkerchief, "Go, go, go!"

Sam grabbed my hand again and we broke away from the group. My brother and I emerged from the far wing of the Avenue and stepped out into the main stretch of road that we had ridden down only days earlier. I immediately felt sweat pool on my brow and the back of my neck. I saw the other Tributes sitting on chairs that had been placed in a row in front of the stage where Archimedes de Soto waited. Everyone was dressed in their finest clothes, ready to impress. The screaming and cheering of the crowd all but drowned out every other sound.

I sat down on one of the last chairs provided, knowing that we would be in for a long wait. Sam didn't let go of my hand, even when the crowd quieted so de Soto could introduce the first Tribute to be interviewed- Glamour- and the blonde girl sprang up the steps and onto the stage. She wore a gold-coloured dress with a skirt that puffed out at the bottom and had see-through gold netting covering it.

I didn't care about what Glamour had to say to de Soto so instead of listening, I peered around the Avenue, squinting in the bright lights. The crowd seemed to be hanging on every word the girl said; only the occasional happy scream or holler was heard. I picked out our President; she sat behind the familiar podium, watching the interview with a disinterested expression. Why would she care what any of us had to say? We'd all be dead in a few days time.

My attention was turned to the stage when Glamour said something and de Soto guffawed laughter.

Archimedes reached over and took Glamour's hand, kissed it and bade her good luck.

"And may the odds be ever in your favour," he smirked and Glamour gracefully left the stage.

Vanity was next. She was wearing a dark pink dress that had a v-neck and a hem that stopped mid-thigh. Her long dark brown hair shone with tiny red gems.

Frowning, I reminded myself not to dismiss the two girls just because they looked prim and prissy. Their heads weren't filled with fluff; they were Careers and had been training for this day since they could walk.

Looking away again, I caught sight of Azazel King himself. He was sitting beside the president and appeared to be giving the interview in progress his undivided attention. I shrugged, of course he would be interested in us; he had a vested interest in all the Tributes. Still, his scrutiny, even when it wasn't directed at me, was unnerving.

Once Vanity left the stage, the first boy from District Two approached de Soto. He was a little shorter than me, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a brown tweed suit that looked awfully warm and a nervous expression on his face.

"Andrew," de Soto began and the boy nodded. He had to be only fourteen or fifteen years old.

"I heard that you come from a family of Peacekeepers and you are planning on being one yourself, if you win," de Soto said and the boy's demeanor changed completely. No longer anxious, Andrew opened up and started chatting amiably with de Soto about what it was like to have his father being a retired Peacekeeper and an older brother- Ansen- who was already working in District Five.

The interviews went by slowly, painfully slow in my opinion, until finally it was my turn.

I stood up on shaky legs but steeled myself, knowing that this was probably the single most important moment in all of the Games.

The crowd gave me scattered applause- nothing like what the Careers received- but I told myself that if I said the right things, they'd be screaming and crying and stomping their feet by the end of the interview.

I climbed the short set of stairs that led to the stage and shook de Soto's hand before sitting down in the chair across from him. I smiled but it felt stiff and false. Unlike the Careers, I wasn't exactly tickled to be having this interview.

"An eight! Wow! How does that feel to have such a high score?" Archimedes asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a maroon suit with a black handkerchief in the breast pocket. If I looked down I was sure I'd be able to see my reflection in his dress shoes.

I grinned even wider, my eyes beginning to water in the bright lights, "It feels great!"

"Everyone was surprised when you received the score," Archimedes said, "Tell me, what's your secret? How did you impress the judges?"

I smiled and winked at de Soto, "If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, now would it?"

Archimedes blinked for a second, confused and then sat back and burst out laughing. I hear the crowd of Capitol citizens chuckling as well.

What a bunch of stupid sheep, I thought as de Soto dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief.

Turning serious now, Archimedes pinned me with his grey eyes, "Your younger brother is also a Tributes this year, yes?"

I nodded. Why did he even have to ask? Everyone old enough to watch the Games knew that Sam and I were siblings.

"Sammy's twelve," I muttered and saw Archimedes nod in sympathy.

"I'm sure your parents are very proud of you," he continued and I closed my eyes for a moment.

Smiling grimly, I nodded. I felt my eyes already start to prick with tears.

"Actually, it's just our Dad," I said as loudly as possible, so all those watching would be able to hear every single word, "Our mother died when Sam and I were little."

Archimedes' eyes pinched, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was a long time ago," I said, feeling a stab of pain in my chest. It may have been a long time ago but it still hurt whenever I thought about my Mom.

I sucked in a watery breath, "I've been taking care of Sam since he was a baby. He means the world to me."

Again, de Soto nodded and I saw him lift his handkerchief to his eyes once more.

"Tell us about that," he prompted and I could just imagine Bobby Singer smiling. He'd been right; the Capitol was eating this up. I noticed that the crowd that had been mirthful with laughter only minutes ago was now so silent I was sure I'd be able to hear it if someone dropped a pin.

Once I started talking I found that I couldn't stop. I described what it had been like to live with the other refugees in the Hob. I talked about the overcrowding, the fights that broke out, the rations, I talked about how scared I was that someone would try and take my brother away. I told the crowd about the first time Sam had caught pneumonia and how he'd never been perfectly healthy after that.

I talked about happier times; walking Sam to and from school, playing with him, answering his never-ending questions. I told them how caring my brother was, I told them that he always tried to see the good in everyone, and how he always gave everything he had, never asking for anything in return…

I barely noticed the tears leaking down my face by the end of my interview. The quiet in the audience was broken only by the sounds of soft weeping- mostly from women, I think- and when Archimedes shook my hand the entire stadium erupted in loud applause. I don't think any Tribute from Twelve had received such an ovation since the 74th Games.

I smiled as I walked off the stage. If what I had said moved the Capitol citizens to tears, what was it going to be like when Sam started talking?

As I went back to my seat, I looked up at our President talking quietly to Azazel King. She looked unmoved as ever and I wondered if she had ever cried once in her life, even as a baby.

Archimedes was composing himself, preparing to call Sam up for his interview. I felt my mouth grow dry with nerves, not even sure why I was anxious and pushed the feeling down hard, trying instead to concentrate on my brother.

Sam looked so tiny, so vulnerable as he stood up and climbed the short set of stairs that led up to the platform.

My brother smiled self-consciously and sat down across from Archimedes. The interviewer leaned forward.

"Your brother loves you very much, doesn't he?"

Sam nodded and smiled shyly.

"This must be very exciting for you," Archimedes continued, "Your first year eligible to play the Games and you get picked! And you get to compete with your brother!"

"I guess," Sam answered quietly, "At least I'll have Dean with me."

My heart swelled with happiness at the simple statement and I heard a number of people in the stands sigh 'awww' at Sam's words.

Keep going Sammy, I thought, keep it up and we'll have so many Sponsors they'll be clamoring to help us.

It must have been difficult for Sam to talk in front of Archimedes and all of the Capitol citizens watching, knowing that everyone back home was listening as well but once his interview was over I knew he'd done something special to the audience. Maybe it was Sammy's innocence or his youth, I don't know but I heard a lot of crying coming from the stands.

I wondered how many women from the Capitol were looking at my brother and seeing their own young sons and daughters, imagining if they were up on the stage instead of Sam. Not that would change things, I mean, Sam _wasn't _their child. He was just another nameless soul from District Twelve. He might put up a good show in the Arena but that was about all he would ever do. He would be forgotten long before the next year's Games arrived.

Archimedes concluded the interviews- Sam nearly ran down the steps and sat down in his seat next to him, looking flushed- and bade all of us Tributes good luck.

Sam and I followed the rest of the Tributes back towards the Training Center. Glamour hung back until she was nearly walking beside me, her gold dress making a muted _shush-shush _sound as she moved.

"That was really heartbreaking, Twelve," she sniggered, "Someone's sure to give you a pity Sponsor now."

I didn't say anything. A Sponsor gained out of pity was better than automatically having one because you were a Career, a cheat.

My silence didn't seem to bother the girl though, she glanced at Sammy.

"When that gong sounds and the Games begin, I'm coming after you," she threatened, a malicious glint in her eye.

Sam didn't look at her. He moved close to my side and looped his arm through mine. Glamour laughed.

"You have any little brothers or sisters of your own, Glamour?" I asked evenly.

She nodded.

"I hope that they get picked for the Games and someone comes after them while all your parents can do is sit back and watch their television screens helplessly," I continued, my voice still calm. It was a low blow, I know, but it was true. Not even the family members of Tributes were safe. Only a Victor's family was exempt from future Reapings and if Glamour lost, there was a good chance that her siblings would be picked or volunteer for the Games.

Glamour, for all her arrogance, paled visibly while two red spots spread out on her cheeks.

"You forget; Tributes from District One win almost every year!" she snapped but clearly she was thinking of her younger brother or sister.

"You're right," I agreed, "Sometimes… but not always. Wasn't it a Tribute from Three who won last year? What was his name? Oh, right, Ray Bluestone."

Glamour narrowed her eyes at me and hurried away, shoving the other kids out of the way as she fought to catch up to Vanity.

"Dean," Sam said; his voice very small, "I'm scared."

"Don't be," I said, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay?"

Sam nodded but stayed close by my side as we entered the Training Center and took the elevator up to our floor.

_W_

Sugar greeted us like Sam and I were a couple of conquering heroes. She told us how she had been moved to tears during our interviews.

"You just melted my heart! Honestly," Sugar claimed, "I don't think there was a dry eye in the stadium after you two finished speaking!"

I smiled grimly. I just hoped that someone, at least one Capitol citizen, had been moved enough to do more than just cry over our unfortunate tale and would Sponsor my brother and I.

"You should rest," Sugar suggested, "You won't get much of a chance for a while."

Yeah, I thought. Either we'd sleep in the soft, downy beds in the Victor's Village of District Twelve or six feet deep in the Cemetery.

"C'mon Sammy," I said and guided my brother down the hall to my bedroom. The blinds were already drawn, casting the room into shadows. I sat down on the end of the bed and watched Sam climb onto to the sheets, blinking tiredly.

I waited until Sam was lying down, curled up into a ball before settling down. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling and thought about what the next days would bring us.

. The Games started tomorrow and then Sam and I would be fighting for our lives. Despite our training over the past week, Sam and I were extremely unprepared, as were the majority of Tributes. Only the Careers really had any chance of winning. It was usually by dumb luck that a kid from a different District won. Ray Bluestone from Three had been crowned last year's Victor after the only other remaining Tribute- a girl from Two- had died of an infected wound that she didn't know how to properly take care of.

It wasn't only the other Tributes that Sam and I had to worry about. The Arena's natural environment could be just as deadly, not to mention the little surprises the Gamemakers cooked up to make things more interesting.

I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes, listening to the calm, even breathing of my brother as he slept beside me.

I hoped that I would be able to keep my promise and protect Sam from the dangers to come.

_W_

"Sam, eat something," I told my brother but he just gave me a blank stare, "I'm not hungry."

Sugar looked from Sam to me and back again. I had a bowl of lamb, rice and plum stew growing cold but that didn't mean my brother wasn't going to eat.

I glared at Sam, "I don't know when we're going to get food for a while so you need to eat something."

My brother didn't say anything but nodded and began piling his plate with baked ham and carrots with maple glaze and herbed baby potatoes. I tried to set an example and eat my lukewarm stew but it tasted like coal dust and I had to stop.

I glanced up when Bobby walked into the dining room. He looked tired and haggard.

"Do we have any Sponsors?" I asked while he sat down beside Sugar and the Avox girl poured him a drink.

Bobby shrugged, "We won't know until the Games start."

I nodded. Maybe once the Capitol citizens saw that Sam and I were not going to give up so easy they'd want to Sponsor us.

_W_

Early the next morning- before the sun had even risen above the glass and steel buildings of the Capitol- my brother and I took the elevator all the way up to the roof of the Training Center where a hovercraft waited for us.

Sam and I climbed the metal steps leading into the flying machine and I couldn't help but stare at all the pale, nervous faces of our fellow Tributes. They sat in seats alone the sides of the hovercraft- twelve on one side, twelve on the other- and every single one of them, even the Careers, looked like they wished they hadn't woken up that morning.

"Take a seat so we can begin," a stern feminine voice instructed and I turned to see a grey-haired woman in a long white coat, a doctor from the Medical Center.

Sam and I sat down across from each other. I was sitting beside one of the girls from Eleven, Persephone, I think her name was. Sam sat next to the other.

The doctor strolled down the length of the cargo area until she was standing in the middle of the walkway, between Vanity and Glamour.

She held up a thin, silver tube so that we could all see it.

"This needle injects a tracking chip under the skin so that the Gamemakers will know exactly each of you are at any given moment," the doctor drawled, "The device cannot be removed except by a doctor."

"Once I have inserted the chip, you will put your safety harnesses on," the woman instructed.

She turned to Glamour and instructed the Tribute to hold out her arm. We all watched as the doctor held Glamour's wrist and pressed the needle straight down onto the skin of her forearm, her thumb pressing down on the top dispenser and injecting the chip.

Glamour quickly pulled the black nylon straps of the safety harness down over her shoulders and buckled them onto the strap that went across her waist, securing her to the seat.

I looked across the walkway at my brother. Sam's face was the colour of spoiled milk and I wondered if he was going to be sick.

The doctor worked efficiently, going from one side to the other to be sure both Tributes from each District received their tracker one after the other.

"Hold out your arm," I did as I was told and felt the cold end of the needle press against my skin. I knew it was going to hurt- I could hear soft cries of surprise and pain as the doctor traveled down the walkway- but I was still shocked by the sharp sting that accompanied the chip's injection.

I glanced down at my arm when the doctor moved away- towards Sam- and was surprised to see no mark on my skin. It was as though nothing had happened.

"Make sure you are wearing your harnesses," the doctor instructed as she strolled back down towards the hovercraft's cabin.

I pulled down my harness and quickly buckled myself in, my heart beating anxiously in my chest.

Across from me, Sam looked so tiny in his seat, the black straps looking far too big against his small frame.

There was a faint humming noise and the feeling of being lifted into the air and we were on our way to the Arena.

The journey seemed to take only a few minutes but I was sure we'd traveled miles, perhaps thousands of miles away from the Districts.

There was a slight jarring as the hovercraft landed and the doctor appeared once again.

"You may take off your safety harnesses and follow me."

I stood up on shaky legs and Sam was immediately at my side. He wrapped one cold hand around my arm and walked beside me as I followed the rest of the Tributes.

We were not led to the doorway we had first entered the hovercraft through, instead the doctor stood before a hatchway in the belly of the flying machine.

"This will take you into the Launch Room," the doctor explained once we were all crowded around her, "You will be separated from your fellow Tributes."

Sam's hand tightened around my arm momentarily.

"I'll be alright, Sammy," I whispered reassuringly, "I'll see you real soon."

The doctor told Vanity and Glamour to come forward first, she gave them both a black jacket and ushered them into the hatchway.

One by one the Tributes were given their jackets- which would adapt to the temperature of the Arena- and sent down into the Launch Room.

I moved forward in front of my brother- I wanted to show Sam that nothing bad was going to happen to him… yet- and took the offered coat. I quickly slipped it over my shoulders and found that it fit perfectly, as though it had been made just for me.

I stared down at the hatchway which showed a lovely view of a white tile floor and gave Sam one encouraging smile before I hopped down.

I landed inside a circular glass tube, its circumference so tight that my shoulders brushed against the sides. Outside of my prison I could see that the tube was inside a small, square room with a white-tiled floor and blank walls. Where I stood inside the tube, the floor was a dull metal.

There was a door on my right side and it opened suddenly, another white-coated Capitol citizen walking through.

"The platform you are currently standing on will raise you up to the Arena. Once you are on top, you will wait for the sixty second countdown. If you move before the gong sounds at the end of the sixty seconds, the mines placed around your plate will detonate and you will be killed."

I didn't react as I listened to the man in the white coat. I knew how it worked. I had seen Tributes blown to bits because they'd been too excited and stepped off their plate too soon.

He gave me an once-over and then walked out, his job done.

I suddenly felt the metal disk I was standing on begin to rise and I instantly clapped my arms to my sides. My heart began to pound with anxiety and I felt sweat trickle down my spine.

This was it. The Games were starting.

I felt my mouth go dry as I was carried upwards.

I stared wide-eyed at the other Tributes around me and caught sight of my brother off to my far right.

I glanced around at the Arena we had been placed in for the Quarter Quell. We appeared to be in an abandoned town. The square, where we waiting, had four dirt streets running perpendicular to its sides and I could see dilapidated houses and what might have been stores along the streets. I could make out the tops of skeletal trees over the tops of the ramshackle buildings. The golden Cornucopia looked dull and drab underneath the cloudy sky but its contents of backpacks and weapons looked promising.

My eye caught an old, crumbling stone well on the far side of the square. There was an iron bell hanging on the arch above it with the symbol of a tree carved into the metal.

_Clang!_

I jumped at the sound of the gong and ran towards the Cornucopia where the majority of the other Tributes were headed.

I tried to see where my brother was but stumbled when one of the other Tributes hit me in their rush to get to the supplies.

Run away, Sammy! I thought fiercely, stay away from here! Hide!

I watched as Glamour arrived at the Cornucopia first and grabbed a heavy-looking battle axe. She swung the weapon around gracefully and buried the blade into the side of the girl's from District Nine. The girl staggered as blood gushed from the gaping wound. Glamour swung the axe again and hit the girl in the chest, killing her.

I needed to get one of those backpacks- I didn't care much for weapons- that would have at least some supplies inside that would be helpful. The problem was, the swords and bows and axes were on the outside of the Cornucopia while the packs deeper inside the structure.

I heard a cry of pain come from the right and the girl I'd been sitting beside in the hovercraft- Persephone- fall with an arrow in her throat.

I still hadn't seen Sam and I thought he must have had the same idea as me and had taken off in the opposite direction to hide but I was gravely mistaken.

A familiar form darted into my line of sight, making a bee-line for the Cornucopia. My brother!

I nearly called out his name but stopped myself. If I shouted I was sure to direct Glamour's attention to Sam and I hadn't forgotten her threat to him after the interviews.

I forced myself to look away and ran towards the Cornucopia. Glamour was momentarily distracted as she fought with Andrew from District Two.

I ducked as an arrow whistled over my head and I glanced up to see who was using the bow: a small dark-haired girl from Seven.

There was no way I was going to get close enough to the Cornucopia so I turned around and fled. Deciding that I'd rather run away and live a little bit longer than die fighting over supplies before the Games had even really begun, I headed towards one of the houses that didn't look too bad and prayed that Sam would be alright until I could find him.

**Author's Note:**

**1. Thanks to missingmikey, scary-blue, SPN Mum, Aislinn Rose, MysteryMadchen, and L.A.H.H for reviewing.**

**2. Please review! I really do love reading them!**

**3. Andrew from District Two is based (loosely) on Andy Gallagher in the **_**Supernatural **_**episodes 'Simon Said' and 'All Hell Breaks Loose: Part One'. I even mentioned his twin brother- older in this fanfic- Ansen Weems. **

**The Arena I've set the Tributes in is based on Cold Oak, South Dakota, where Azazel transported his 'special children' to have their battle royale. Let's hope Sammy fares better than he did the last time he was here!**


End file.
